Ghost
by LittleMissMorbid
Summary: . "It's a melancholy scene." Rated for character death, sex, violence, and drug use.
1. Chapter 1

Yes, I'm going to finish Veracity, but I wanted to give you guys a taster of my next fic, _Ghost._

Inspired by the movie _Untraceable _and Stefluuvsyou's _Stalking Casey._

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It started with phone calls. He'd been lying on his bed, hockey practice canceled. The middle and elementary schools hadn't even dismissed their pupils yet, and Casey was still at school, studying or practicing for a play or something. Derek didn't really know, and he didn't really care, because he had the house and a new carton of chocolate fudge ice cream all to himself.

In the middle of a startlingly large bite, the phone rang. "Hewwo?" he mumbled, chewing over the cold concoction.

There was a strange sound on the end; a garbled hiss, or growl maybe. It lasted for a few seconds, and then the phone clicked, signaling the end of the call. He hung up the phone, shrugging, and began devouring his ice cream again.

When the phone rang again, he was tossing the carton back into the freezer and throwing the spoon in his sink. Wiping his hands on a towel, (thusly streaking the garment with sticky chocolate streaks) he picked up the phone.

"Yeah?" he offered in place of a greeting. The strange garbled hiss-slash-growl intruded his ears yet again. Derek rolled his eyes.

"Okay, dude, if this is your idea of a prank call—news flash: it's really lame."

A loud whine came in response to that, making his ears ache; "Jesus Christ!" he snarled, pulling the phone from his ear. A few moments later, he cautiously put his ear against the phone again. It was silent.

Rubbing his aching ear with his hand, he headed to the couch to veg in front of the tv until the family got home.

The phone rang again; right as Scooby was running from a zombie. Derek ignored it, and let it go to the machine; he wasn't stupid enough to answer the damn phone a third time.

The hissing and snarling echoed on the machine, eliciting an expression of annoyance on his face. _Would this guy give up already?_ He thought. The phone call ended with the same piercing whine as before.

He went over to delete the message; no need for the rest of the family to know he was being pranked. Casey would undoubtedly find delight in that, and Edwin would be crestfallen to see his idol rendered useless. Over a _phone call_, no less.

Just as the machine beeped, deleting the message, Casey bustled through the door, Edwin and Lizzie following behind her. She tripped over a flower pot and ended up sprawling at his feet.

"Klutzilla, I knew you'd be falling for me at some point, but you didn't have to do it _literally _to get my attention." He said cheerfully, patting her on the head as she scrambled back up ungracefully.

Instead of firing back with an equaling demeaning retort, she growled at him and stomped up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind.

Derek looked at Edwin. "Was it something I said?" he asked innocently.

"Casey got into a fight with Max," Lizzie explained, snatching the remote from his hand and flipping to a documentary on lions.

"_Really?"_ Derek asked, his attention and curiosity fully piqued. Lizzie ignored his response and Edwin went into the kitchen. Now that the two younger siblings' attention was diverted, he could easily go upstairs and…

"_De-rek!" _Casey snarled, "I can't pay for Max's jacket! You ruined it!"

"Why?" Derek asked, taking the steps in fluid grace, "Because it says '_Verturi's number one'_ in place of _'Miller'?"_

He was close to her now, able to smell her shampoo and close enough to brush his hand against her shoulder without it seeming odd. Casey was oblivious to this, as was her not-so-brotherly counterpart.

"_Yes!"_

"But Casey, I thought you _liked _honesty!"

"Derek…" Casey said softly, her voice much lower than the octave she had it at previously, "He already hates me, okay? Please don't make it worse."

Tears began filling her eyes. "Just go, Derek." She said, and shut the door in his face, the soft _click _reminding him of how much she shut him out; especially when it came to _Max_.

They'd be back together by tomorrow. Derek knew this. Casey couldn't stay mad at him for long (he was the _quarterback_, after all) and Max…well, Max was just stuck with her, because his and Casey's names ran together permanently like the two were married: Max-and-Casey; Casey-and-Max; Max-N-Casey—and so forth and so on. There was no escaping the Commitment of Casey.

Perhaps that wasn't fair. Derek knew that if Max could break up with Casey for a rational and legitimate reason, he would. Even their names—as run-together as they were—didn't ring right. 

Still, the unsettling knowledge that Casey would be mooching with the oversized piece of orange cardboard by tomorrow morning settled in his stomach heavily.

"Must be hungry," Derek mumbled to himself, and he left the hallway, Casey's sobs ringing in his ears.

Those sobs ended at some point, because a blotchy-eyed and exhausted looking Casey exited her room and ran a bath just as he was heading down to dinner.

"Hey," he said, poking his head into the bathroom, staring at the robed brunette, "Dinner's ready."

"I'll eat later." Casey told him tonelessly. She didn't argue. She didn't insult him. All she did was close the door in his face, just as softly as she had before.

Derek ignored this—he'd had all the Casey Drama he could handle for the day, and Tofu wasn't on the menu, hamburgers were—and began his descent to the dinner table.

"Where's Casey?" Nora asked, looking surprised.

"Max," Edwin, Lizzie, and Derek said in unison; each rolled their eyes and began fixing their hamburgers.

"Well, shouldn't one of you be comforting her?"

"Dad, if she wants to be left alone, let her be alone. No skin off my nose." Derek muttered.

"Yeah! Besides, when has Casey ever appreciated _our _comfort when she didn't want it?"

George had no comment to this, and Nora merely sighed, not wanting to push the subject further.

"Marti," said the woman, "How was your day?"

The eight-year-old's babbling quickly filled up the awkward silence. "We made ponies and Zach dared me to eat a crayon and Geena started a fire again and I told Mrs. Zurich so I got _two _blue stars today—"

"That little girl started _another _fire?" Nora asked, alarmed.

"Yeah; Geena's daddy's a boy scout troop leader an' he teaches Geena all kinds of stuff. Geena used a magneedying glass!"

"You mean magnifying, Smarti," Derek corrected absent mindedly.

"Derek, can _you _teach me boy scout stuff? Please?"

Derek's grin grew. "Why, of _course. _Smarti." George glared at him.

"No _illegal _stuff, of course." Derek added with a mock expression of seriousness.

George shook his head. "We should have traded you in for a girl."

"Love you too, _Dad_."

The dinner had concluded with stories of Edwin's gym socks, Lizzie's conservation efforts, and the recent grade report George had received in regards of his oldest son.

"Try harder, Derek," his father warned. Derek simply said the right things and easily slipped away into his room.

The phone hadn't rang, and the earlier incident with the prank calls had almost been forgotten. Safely in his room, surfing on YouTube and downloading new music, Derek was feeling pretty calm. Calm and relaxed enough to even be nice to Casey if she came into his room.

His cell phone vibrated, and Sam's caller ID popped up.

"Sammy!" Derek said in greeting.

Hisses and growls answered him—a new animal-like cry penetrated the mix of sounds, a loud cat-like yowl—and the screeching pitch began, causing him to drop the phone.

"_Fuck!"_

The call ended at exactly 0:11. Derek sighed, tossing the phone on his bed. At least he knew who the "prankster" was. Derek returned to his web surfing, muttering obscenities to himself.

The house phone rang five seconds later; he let someone else pick it up.

"_Derek! It's Sammy!" _Marti screeched—damn, that kid had a set of lungs.

He found his handheld and answered it. "Sam, I'd thought being my friend would have taught you how to prank awesomely. Sadly, I was mistaken."

"First of all, dude, 'awesomely' isn't correct grammar, and twice..ly, I didn't prank you."

"_Twicely?_ Yes you did, Sam. Did you forget cell phones have Caller ID?"

"I never called you on my cell, man. I haven't had my cell since it got stolen at the senior bash two weeks ago. Remember?"

"…Right. Sam, I gotta go, Spacey's freaking over the phone." He lied, and hung up.

Derek retrieved his cell, lying on his stomach as he searched his outcoming calls, finding the name 'Sam' and yes, the correct cell number for his friend. Frowning, he hit 'send' and waited.

There wasn't even a ring. It just stay silent, eating away at his minutes like some sort of freaky parasite. Derek closed the phone, eying it with distrust and suspicion.

In that second, Casey entered his room with a victorious smile. "Hand it over," she said, tapping her foot.

"Hand what over?" he asked.

"The two-sixty that'll pay for Max's new jacket."

"I am _not _paying two hundred and sixty bucks to your wimpy boyfriend!"

"Yes you are! _Mom!"_

"_Dad!" _Derek screamed, overbearing Casey's yell for reinforcements. The two teens both battled down the stairs with shoves and hair pulls.

The newest brawl Casey had started eradicated any apprehension about that phone call.

The next morning, Derek awoke with a permanent snarl on his face. All of the family members assumed it was because he'd lost the battle to Casey the night before—and yes, that was part of it.

His dad entered the kitchen first. "Dad, call the cell phone company and make them give me a new cell phone number."

"Why?" George asked suspiciously.

"Yeah, why?" Casey asked with a smirk, "Too many hookers with STD's calling about their babies?"

"Casey." George said warningly, then returned his focus on his son, "Why, Derek?"

"Some telemarketers kept calling me. And my phone wouldn't shut off correctly. I was being woken up _all _night." The dark rings and blood-shot eyes confirmed this statement and George had no choice but to agree.

"Okay. I'll try to call them today."

The rest of the morning went equally as horribly; Casey had numerous new retorts due to the incident in the kitchen to throw at him; he'd gotten to school late and found said stepsister being all cutesy-wootsy with her orange cardboard cutout; Sam and Ralph had decided twenty questions was a fun game to play when he was sleep deprived…the list went on and on.

"So, if it's not drugs, is it a _girl?_" Sam asked.

"_No."_ Derek forced between gritted teeth.

"Dude, is it…y'know…a _dude?_" Ralph asked with widened eyes.

"You've discovered us. Oh no." Derek said flatly. "Come, honeybuns, we'll be late for class." He said, elbowing Sam.

"Oh my God!" Ralph sputtered.

"Ralph—" Sam began. Derek didn't stick around to hear the rest because he was already in Civics, which, thankfully, neither Sam or Ralph had.

Casey, however, was. And when she saw him, a satisfied smile grew across her features.

"Y'know, _smug _isn't really your color." Derek snarked.

"Neither is _ass_ for you, but that never stops _you_." Casey replied sweetly.

"So when I'm not being an ass, you want to jump me, right?" Derek asked, wiggling his brows.

"If that implies a stabbing motion with a sharp object and me taking your money, then yes."

"Casey!" The teacher sniped. "Can we begin?"

"Yes, ma'am." Casey mumbled, pointedly ignoring Derek's wide smile.

Hockey practice was a disaster. He kept checking the wrong people, missing easy shots, and just all around _sucking_. His coach had already tried to give him a pep talk twice—a pep talk full of obscenities and threats on his life, but a pep talk no less—and it had done no good.

"Venturi! You're out. Hit the showers." Derek tossed his stick down in frustration and stormed off to take a lukewarm shower.

Alone in the locker room, he was still seething; he ran his fingers through his wet hair, tossed off his equipment with violence, and left a dent in someone's locker with his fist.

And it was all because of that _stupid _phone call.

"I don't get pranked," he growled under his breath, throwing on his street clothes rapidly.

"That little bitch is going _down."_

The bag was packed with equal disaster and anger, and he set off—without even talking to his coach—with a loud bang.

The sound reverberated, and then silenced.


	2. Chapter 2

Second installment! Enjoy enjoy!

Note: Yeah, I know 'copperplate gothic' font doesn't show up on ff . net. Umm, just pretend you can see it, 'kay?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

His mood continued well into the rest of the evening. Nobody dared to ask him what was wrong, not after Edwin had the misfortune of happening to be in front of the TV when he got home.

The usual suspects spoke at dinner about the usual things—Casey about her play, Marti about some various mishap, and so on and so forth. Derek offered no part in any of the conversations, and not even Marti attempted to draw him out of his silent rage. His dining utensils screeched against the plate as he ate in a violent manner (which drew a disgusted sneer out of Casey, but she kept her mouth shut).

His footsteps thumped and echoed in the house; the sound of his door slamming doing the same.

The rest of his night had been spent wandering aimlessly on the internet. He only half-paid attention to what he was doing; his eyes flickered to his phone every few seconds.

By ten thirty, there had been no contact with the alleged "prankster", and he collapsed on his bed, drifting off the sleep quickly. He didn't wake up until his alarm went off.

Breakfast went much smoother than the morning before. While a little voice in the back of his head nagged at him, curious as to why he hadn't been bothered at all, he ignored it and had the feeling that today was going to be a very good day.

Casey's usual retorts didn't provoke much of a heated response out of him, and he smirked at her bewildered expression.

"Oh, Derek," George said, seconds before rushing out the door, "I called the cell phone company for you. Remind me to give you your new number tonight, okay?"

Derek responded with genuine thanks. Casey looked at him, eyes narrowing into suspicious slits.

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing. Are you riding with me or not?"

Not even Casey and her creamsicle moron of a boyfriend could shake his good mood—even if she did fawn over him and go all girly and air-headed on him like she always did. No, not even Casey McDonald could shift the sense of calm he had.

All of that, however, had quickly shattered by third period. While the teacher droned on about a Gerund Phrase (whatever that was) his phone had vibrated, informing him he had a text. His heart sank.

The text was brief, clichéd, and annoying.

**You can run…**

**But you can't hide.**

It was in that moment that Derek decided he needed help. And he couldn't turn to Sam or Ralph about this—they'd laugh and be absolutely useless. No, Derek Venturi needed a special breed to help him with this—a smarter breed.

That breed was defined as Nerd, pure and simple. Worse than Casey, but smarter than her, too. He didn't need any run-of-the-mill asthmatic geek, either. No, he needed the smartest, the ringleader. The invisible—but still widely known—Alan Wright.

This might be a problem. Not only was he _Derek Venturi_, and it would be social suicide to seek help with someone as invisible and obviously uncool as Alan, Derek would also have to figure out how to get him to help the most popular guy in school. Alan wouldn't fall all over him like some geeks would. He would treat him with icy contempt, much like Casey did.

The bell rang, and fourth period was beginning. Derek needed to find the socially awkward enigma—and fast. His guess was that Alan would probably be in the computer lab during lunch. He'd just tell Sam and Ralph he got lunch detention or something.

With people either distracted by going to class or going to lunch, it was going to be relatively easy to slip into the technology hallway. His sneakers squeaked as he walked down the narrow and silent hallway.

Computers hummed as he entered. The warm air brushed past his face. In the back of the room, hunched in the corner, was Alan Wright. From his position, Derek guessed he didn't want to be found—which implied he was doing something he shouldn't be, like hacking into the computer mainframe.

He walked toward the hunched figure, and Alan's eyes flickered to his at the sound. His lips curved into a wry smile. "Oh, it's my _very _favorite person! What's the matter, Venturi—get lost on your way to the janitor's closet?"

Jeez, he really _was _a male Casey.

Derek took a seat next to him. "Cut the crap, Alan. I'm here because I need your help."

A loud, mocking laugh exited the boy's mouth. "_You_ need _my _help?" His green eyes narrowed malevolently, clearly finding glee in his proposition. Shaking his chocolate brown hair out of his face, he turned to Derek, one skinny, tanned arm propping his chin up. A victorious smile played upon his lips.

"Are you failing some class and you need me to change it? Sorry, Venturi, I don't do favors, especially for guys like _you._" The last word was uttered with such venom Derek flinched.

"Look, Alan, I know you think I have issues with people like you, but I don't. I could care less who you date or who you have sex with."

"Aw, are you trying to tell the little fag that's it's okay to fuck older, married men? How _sweet!_ I don't care if you care or not, Venturi."

Derek knew the words behind that statement. _You never stopped the harassment, and you very well could have._

"I'm sorry about what happened last year, okay? And I'm sorry those assholes didn't get kicked off the team or expelled."

"They killed my _dog_, Venturi." He said with icy calmness, "And they dumped its _head _on my front porch. Sorry isn't going to fix a damn thing."

Derek looked appalled. "They killed your _dog?"_

Alan's lips grew into a bitter smile. "Of course, there was no evidence, so it couldn't have been proven otherwise. My kid sister still hates me for that, you know."

Derek sighed. "Alan, look, I'm sorry. But I wouldn't be going to you if anyone else could be doing the job I'm asking of you."

His ego clearly throbbing with glee, Alan's curiosity was piqued. "What do you need me to do?"

Derek pulled out his cell phone, showing him the text message. "I need you to find out who sent this."

Alan's brow lifted lazily. "Amateur stuff. Let me load the text onto my computer and I'll see what I can do." He fished out a long black cord, plugged it into his laptop, and extracted the message from his cell.

The Nokia was plopped back into his hand. "When do you think you'll have some info?"

Alan smirked. "Meet me after school, at the dot-com café. Five. Don't be late, hockey boy, I got stuff to do."

Derek nodded. "I'll see you then." He got up, stopping at the door.

"Hey, Alan?" The dark-haired boy looked at him with disinterest. "Thanks."

"Tell anyone about this and your computer will mysteriously end up with multiple backdoor Trojans."

Derek snorted. "The feeling's mutual, Wright."

The rest of the day was uneventful—not even his phone went off. Hockey practice went well, and his coach was relieved to see his star player back on track.

He was the first one out of the locker room.

Casey met up with him, wrinkling her nose at the smell of his bag. Derek looked at her, shadows of annoyance forming across his face.

"_What _are you doing here, freak?"

"I need a ride home."

_Dammit. _That would mean he'd have to figure out some other way to meet Alan. Derek sighed heavily, grumbling about how she should get her own damn car.

"Sorry to interfere with your oh-so-pressing social life," Casey sniped.

She bitched and moaned the _whole _way home. About her mannequin boyfriend, about the smell in the car, and about the fact that the radio was broken.

"Casey, we're home. Get out." Derek commanded. Her jaw dropped.

"Excuse me? Who died and made you boss? And where exactly do you think you're going?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Away from your whining ass. Go call Mr. Creamsicle and bitch to him. Last time I checked, I wasn't your boyfriend, or even your friend."

Casey's eyes flashed. She took off her seatbelt and exited the car, giving him a classic heated Casey expression. "You are an ass, Derek. I don't know what any girl sees in you—"

"Except an amazing body and lips that would make _you _scream my name, Space Case." Derek said in a bored tone.

Casey blushed at his comment, and she slammed the door.

_Finally._

He squealed out of the driveway, turning on the radio as he turned left. Casey hadn't checked the volume when she turned it on, and he didn't volunteer this information.

When he got to the café, it was four-forty five, and Alan was already there, sipping an iced tea as he shifted through a folder of papers and tapped a key on his laptop. Spying Derek through the sparse crowd, Alan regarded him with a cool gaze and a bored tone.

If Derek wasn't so dense, Alan thought lightly, he would be able to see through his whole 'bored' and 'disinterested' façade. The truth was, he was very interested. However, crushing on a very straight, very popular hockey player—no matter how attractive that smirk was—was an extremely stupid idea.

Derek slid into the booth parallel from him.

"Cell phone." Alan commanded, and Derek gave him the cell phone. His fingers brushed against the hockey player's hand lightly when he grabbed it—Derek didn't even notice—and his stomach flipped.

"Okay," Alan said, his voice momentarily shaking before he forced an ornery expression across his face, "The thing with text messages is that the font cannot be changed—it's universal, unless you have one of those smartphones that cost a thousand bucks."

Derek looked at him blankly. Alan continued.

"However, the message you got employs a Copperplate Gothic font. The only way this could happen is if this was emailed to you."

"But it showed up as a text message from a phone." Derek argued, clearly confused.

"Whoever sent this to you didn't want you to know that he was using a computer. Now, the way he made it appear as a message from a phone as opposed to a computer—it implies that he's not going to be easy to find."

"Can't you track him through the email?"

"If I knew his IP address, sure."

"So what's the problem?"

"He's using a public email server to send these messages, which would typically be easy for me to track."

"I'm sensing a big 'but' here."

"When I tried to find his IP address, it wiped my computer. He knew I was looking for him. Whoever this is has an extensive knowledge of computer viruses and how to write them."

"So basically, you can't find him?"

"I can tell you this guy, he's not at Thompson. The kind of level he's at—the sophistication of his viruses, they're well beyond _any _student at Thompson."

Derek sighed. _"Great."_

Alan shrugged. "He'll get bored with you, Venturi. You're not _that _great."

_You are such a _liar, _you worm. _Alan thought to himself.

"Gee, thanks." Derek muttered sarcastically. "Thanks for the help anyway."

"Later." Alan called out weakly as he exited the shop. Derek gave him a salute with a smirk before starting his car and leaving.

_That _fucking _smirk…_ Alan thought miserably. His muscles had turned to absolute mush. Well, all except _one…_

He was jolted out of his woes by a pop-up on his computer. "GrimmSin" was the website's title.

"**I know what you're doing, you little faggot. Did you **_**really **_**think I'd let you find my email address by mistake? You don't want to know how far the rabbit hole goes. Keep helping Venturi and you lose****."**

Alan frowned. Slinging the 'f' word around. How mature. He rolled his eyes. This little stalker of Venturi's thought he was hot shit.

"Time for a reality check," he murmured, snagging the website address before his computer crashed for a second time.

Derek would be pleased about this new discovery. Maybe he'd even show some concern for the sarcastic geek.

Alan's stomach flipped.

Oh, he had it for Venturi. _Bad._


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, I admit it: I really like Alan. He's a fun character to write about, and I thought it would be interesting to know why, exactly, he's so hated by the hockey team.

And yes, Alan is based off of traits that I possess and also based off of every relationship I've had (every meaning two, and each went agonizingly awry).

I hope you guys like Alan as much as I do, haha, because he isn't leaving anytime soon.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

START SEARCH:

'_Search: ALAN WRIGHT_

_searching…_

_ALAN CHRIS WRIGHT_

_ALAN CHRISTOPHER WRIGHT_

_ALAN CHRYSTIPHER WRIGHT_

_ALAN DAVID WRIGHT_

_ALAN DEVON WRIGHT_

_ALAN DEVONNE WRIGHT_

_ALAN DEVIN WRIGHT_

_pages 1 2 3 4 5 6 __**7**__…_

_(displaying page 7 of 152,000'_

NEW SEARCH:

'_Search: ALAN WRIGHT_

_Location search: Toronto, Ontario, Canada_

_Five mile radius of Postal Code: M4B 1V4'_

_ALAN JASON WRIGHT_

_Page 1_

…_the Thompson High student, __**Alan Wright**_, _was brought to the ER tonight after sustaining wounds apparently caused by…__**Wright **__is the student involved in the controversial David Green Case… link_

_AP-Toronto 3/19/06 1:23 AM_

_A Thompson High School student who was involved in the controversy with teacher David Green was brought into the ER late Saturday night after suffering wounds to his face, ribs, and lower extremities. He is currently in critical condition. _

_Updated: 3/21/06 12:34 PM_

_The Thompson High student, now known as Alan Wright, has allegedly been the victim of a hate crime due to his involvement with popular Civics teacher David Green. Wright, a seventeen-year-old junior, had allegedly began a romantic affair with the married teacher; when the student ended the relationship, Mr. Green apparently bound and raped the seventeen-year-old, keeping the youth hidden in his cellar until later that night, where he was then set free. David Green is currently at trial for kidnapping, sodomy, possession of marijuana, and possession of child pornography._

_Wright's injuries are rumored to be caused by barbells stolen from the school's gym, and an investigation is currently underway. _

_Related articles:_

_TWO SENIOR HOCKEY PLAYERS CHARGED FOR HATE CRIME ON ALAN WRIGHT link_

_HOCKEY PLAYERS GET MAXIMUM PENALTY DESPITE PARENTS', PEERS' PLEAS link_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

He had nothing. Not even a name. The emerald-eyed boy was tired; his eyes burned, his back ached, and his _stupid _computer had crashed so many times, he was thankful he kept all of his data on an external hard drive, locked in the bottom of his closet.

Alan took a breath, winced as he felt the familiar ache in his side; his ribs and hips hadn't healed properly, and arthritis regularly set in on nights like this. He made a mental note to take some Advil after he was done.

Pulling up the GrimmSin website once again, he began his work. But, _again, _before his computer could even pull up the second page containing the information he needed, it emitted a short screech and fell silent. His computer was officially in heaven.

With a grimace, he shoved two turquoise pills in his mouth, chased them down with a shot of Smirnoff's, and pulled out his laptop. He had an English Lit assignment due the next day, anyway, he might as well take a break.

Question one: _What meaning was Chaucer attempting to convey in this story?_

Easy enough. He began to type:

_Chaucer's intention was to conveVENTURI IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS I KNOW ALL ABOUT YOU ALAN WRIGHT YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE HOW FAR THE RABBIT THE RABBIT HOLE GOES _

Alan looked at the screen, at first frowning, because he had been on a roll with that question, and then he sighed. Pressing backspace, he began his question once again.

_Chaucer's main concern was to shed light upon the societal differences between men anTALKED TO YOUR OLD FUCK BUDDY YET? I HAVE-- WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE HOW HE FARED IN PRISON?_

His computer went black, and it whirred, sounding as if it were in pain, being forced to do something it didn't want to; the screen lit up again, and his breath caught in his throat.

The handsome, smiling David Green was looking back at him, just as beautiful as he had been a year and a half ago. Blonde hair, hazel eyes, an easy smile and a body to _die _for hidden under simple t-shirts and loose jeans. The teacher had been twenty eight then, just married with a child on the way. Alan hated himself for that, for stealing a father away from his child, and then sending him to prison.

What he hated most, though, was that Green could still make his breath catch, set his heart racing, and make his palms sweat as if what he had done to him had been nothing. A familiar lump appeared in his throat. Green had been his first—first real kiss, first real sexual encounter, first real love—and firsts were never forgotten, no matter how much he wanted to.

His nails dug into his palms—the pain raced through his skin and stabbed at the growing pain caused by his arthritis. Remembering this was not on the agenda for tonight. Not tonight. He had spent too much time reminiscing and brooding over it—and then spent too much money on drugs to forget.

HERE'S PRETTY BOY NOW

His computer pinged, and Alan remembered, what—who, really—was fucking with him. A new image grew onto the computer slowly, like a red wine stain on white.

A sickened whimper escaped his throat. _"Ohh…" _

Gone was the man he had stupidly fallen for; what stared at him was a naked body, bruises forming, cuts still widening, blood still pooling beneath the skin he knew so well.

His skin was a mottled grey color, mixed with a sickening urine-yellow that made him look sickly. Green's head jutted at an odd angle, his tech showing telltale signs of a break.

The hazel—the warm, lively hazel that made him melt—was gone; what replaced it was a soft grey, and one eye was removed out of the socket completely. The dark, dry tunnel of the socket was there. Alan's stomach lurched. Green had been decomposing for a while, but it didn't hide the marks of obvious abuse.

The mouth, withered, flaky and dry, opened, revealing a parched, milky opening. Alan wasn't sure what was missing at first, and had to fight the waves of nausea as he looked through the images.

Then he caught it.

Green's tongue was missing, and in its place laid the missing eye.

THIS IS HOW FAR THE RABBIT HOLE GOES

The machine shut off, and Alan, losing composure, slid to the floor and let himself grieve.

He was done. Really, his heart went out to Venturi. But a line had been crossed, and boundaries had been emphasized.

Nerds didn't help jocks. Especially him, the freak who had been seduced and fallen in love with a teacher. No, not just _a _teacher—the teacher who was next in line for coaching the hockey team part-time.

A gaping, black hole grew in his chest; old scars had been reopened and new pain added to them.

His hand dug under the bed, and found the beat-up box. A syringe was extracted, an old tie.

The heroin rushed through his veins like fire; his head lolled back, and his breathing slowed. His tears stopped. Vaguely he realized a low moan escaped his throat, one of satisfaction.

When the black hit, taking over his vision and sending his body through an ebony tide of calm, his last conscious movement was a smile.

The next morning he was still tapering off his heroin, so he left as early as he could and found sanctuary in the computer lab. He would have to tell Venturi he was done, obviously; but in this state Derek would realize something was off about him.

He logged into his account and made his way to the grading system, changing the boy's current failing grade in Drama (really Derek? _Drama?_ he mused) as a sort of subtle apology that he was taking the easy way out.

Third period, Derek had hunted him down, and Alan was in a _shitty _mood, craving more heroin and only getting the beginning of a migraine in response.

He leaned against the door way, hair falling into his eyes, the same smirk on his face. But not even Derek Venturi, the hottest guy in school, could make him weak-kneed today. The images of Green were still fresh, and his sex drive had been pretty much murdered.

"So," he began, plopping (somehow) gracefully into the seat parallel from him, "Did you find anything else out?"

Alan looked at him. The familiar sting of tears began, and he had to turn away. _God, _he was such a pussy. _Really, _Alan! He thought icily, _Get ahold of yourself!_

An awkward moment passed, and he spoke. "Whoever's messing with you isn't some girly freshman. This guy means business. I suggest you start with the cops."

Derek's brows furrowed in confusion. "Did something happen, Wright?"

Green eyes met his brown ones. "It doesn't matter, Venturi. I'm done, okay?"

The skinny boy began to stand, picking up his messenger bag. Derek, easily outweighing him by both height and weight, clamped a hand on his shoulder.

"Alan."

He looked up, icily sneering at him. "_Derek._"

"Tell me. What the hell did he do to you?"

In that second, Alan realized two things: in a short span, Derek had grown to depend on him, and that if it had been any other circumstance, Alan would have broken down and told him. In a strange and fucked up way, both boys trusted each other.

Alan looked at him with a dead gaze. "Just be careful, Derek."

He shoved past the hockey player, slipping out the door. Alan gave up on classes; he went downtown, purchased a new bag of heroin, and slipped into his ebony sea of calm for the second time that morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Been a while since I updated, I know. _And_ this is short, I know. Feel free to hit me.

There's only one thing to blame. Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Darkness.

The good news is, I completed the game so I'm bored with it now and I'll be getting back to this.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Derek was suspicious. And when Derek was suspicious, he found a way to answer those suspicions. In this case, finding where Alan Wright lived and giving the guy a surprise visit seemed like a good idea. However, finding those living premises would be complicated; after the trial, the Wrights had moved to a discreet location, and had done a damn good job hiding it from the press.

And he couldn't just go around _asking _for the kid's address. Being popular was _hard!_

"You're pouting." Amy pointed out, an inkling of what sounded like amusement in her voice.

"Why are you talking to me?" Derek asked sourly, opening his locker. The picture of Marti had fallen to the floor; he picked it up and pressed it to the door.

"I'm talking to you because you're pouting."

"News flash—we broke up."

Amy raised a brow, a coy smile growing across her face. "Maybe I want to change that."

Derek debated telling her off or accepting her proposition. One look at the skirt she was wearing cinched his decision. A smirk grew across his face.

"Seven?"

"Movie?"

"Sounds like a date." Amy winked at him, giving him a peck on his cheek (and pressing her chest against his, making him realize that going on a date with even the most superficial of all girls had its perks).

The day passed by slowly, because without girls to distract him, Alan was on his mind. He had made an odd exit, and there had been something wrong with his eyes—his whole expression, really—when Derek had visited him that morning.

When lunch rolled around, his friends and even his food didn't interest him as it should have. Amy had to call his name twice to snap him out of his reverie, and after the fifth time of slipping back into his thoughts, Amy had grown annoyed and left.

Even Sam and Ralph gave up having a conversation with him. Because of these reasons, lunch was quiet and intense. The whole _day _was intense.

The only time Derek had a break from his thoughts of Alan, the cell phone, and pranks, was when Casey came home. _God bless her!_ Derek thought in relief as she drew out his name heatedly.

She was throwing a hissy fit because he'd forgotten to wait for her after school. He responded, with a smirk, that he hadn't forgotten, he'd just had better things to do.

Which was a lie, of course.

"Better things to do, huh? Like _Amy?_" she sauntered up to him, fire in her eyes.

With that proclamation, she left Derek downstairs slack jawed…and honestly, a little turned on.

Still, he had other things to do. He didn't have time to analyze how wrong it was to find Casey even the slightest bit attractive.

George got home just as he was leaving. "Where are you going?" George demanded, merely because it was the fatherly thing to do; Derek knew he really didn't care as long the girl wasn't pregnant and he and the car got home in one piece—especially the car.

"Date. See ya."

The date with Amy went as well as expected. They had started making out ten minutes into the film, gotten kicked out, drove up to Dancer's Peak (the local makeout spot) started making out again, and progressed from there.

He discovered that Amy _wasn't _a screamer—she squirmed and panted beneath him, but not a sound escaped her lips. He also discovered that she was a biter; she bit down on his shoulders so hard he was convinced there'd be scars.

Amy was also not a romantic. When they were done she did not insist that they cuddle; she simply redressed herself and stared him in the eyes for a moment after she had done so. He wondered what she had been searching for, but also couldn't muster up the care to ask.

Derek stared at the wheel for a moment before starting the car. This was awkward. After-sex was always awkward. It was after sex that he discovered how much he really didn't like the girl he'd just been fucking, and it was after sex that he felt ashamed of it.

But not ashamed enough to stop.

Amy looked at her watch, an expensive export from Germany (she'd told him that, after she caught him staring at it) and swore under her breath.

"Hey, push the limit. My curfew's eleven."

When they got to her house, he walked her to the door. She stared at him, and he stared at her; both realized that this probably wasn't happening again.

He leaned in to kiss her, and she kissed him back. She felt nothing. No shivers up her spine, no stomach flips. Nothing.

She looked at him a final time, smiled a sad little smile, and then put her hand on the doorknob. "Goodnight, Derek."

He gave her a nod in response, and they parted.

The drive home was lonely, as nights like these always had a sense of loneliness to them. He opened the windows to air out the car, tossed the condom in the neighbor's trash, and parked.

When he entered the house, Casey's humming greeted him.

"And I love what you do; Don't you know you're toxic?" Derek held back a laugh. Britney Spears? The ranting feminist listened to _Britney Spears?_

"It's getting late…"

She trailed off as Derek's smug smile grew upon his face.

"Little bit of a hypocrite, are we?" he mocked.

"Shut up," she snapped. "Besides, we all know what you use Britney Spears for."

"And what might that be, Princess?"

She turned red. Instead of answering, she screwed the cap onto the peanut butter jar in which she had been dipping her finger in (hardly sanitary, Derek noted) and put it on the shelf.

She walked past him with a pretentious air around her, not even wishing him a good night.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek woke up at two in the morning, hearing the very familiar ring of his cell phone. He groaned, but answered it.

What greeted him was slightly vulgar; the same sounds, but also a new addition. Buzzing. Buzzing, like insects. He felt like a moron, being disturbed by _sounds. _Sounds anyone could find and record. But he also remembered Alan. And Derek knew whoever this was, he wasn't playing a prank. This was real.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Alan felt like a total asshole. That was the perk of drugs; when he was on his heroin rush, compassion and other annoying emotions didn't exist. When he was on his heroin rush, he was a selfish addict who was running away from his thoughts; he got away from the pain and the bitter taste in his mouth.

However, now he was off his heroin rush and firmly set into reality. Frankly, it sucked.

Exiting his room, he ran into his mother, who looked exhausted. She looked at him like he was a stranger. Of course, these days, they pretty much were. While they'd never done the cheery Brady-Bunch togetherness before, after the Green incident both his mother and father regarded him as a permanent guest. A burden.

"Alan," she said, her eyes oddly unfocused. She was on her tranquilizers again. Like mother, like son. "I got a call from the school today. Were you sick?" Of course, she knew damn well what was up. She was simply asking him so she could fill her good-parent quota for the day.

"Yeah. I left early."

His mother nodded. "Okay. I'll write you a note." And then she left him there alone in the kitchen.

He had to get out of here. Grabbing his jacket and the keys, he bolted out of the house, planning to return only when his parents were sound asleep. These days they went to bed as early as eight; simply living had taken all the energy out of them.

He pulled into the Smellie Nellie's parking lot. He entered, took a booth, and waited for the basic human interaction of the waiter.

"What can I get you?" His green eyes flickered to the boy standing next to him. Blonde, slightly muscular, and blue-eyed, Alan had to admit he was gorgeous.

"Ah…a chocolate malt. Please."

He received the milkshake from the waiter, who regarded Alan nonchalantly. After handing Alan the malt, he headed out the door, yelling a farewell to his boss. Alan eyed his exiting form, and then decided he had a really nice ass.

After that thought, his worst nightmare entered the restaurant. Derek stopped in his tracks when he saw him, and Alan froze, frantically trying to think of a way to leave quickly.

"Alan," Derek began, "Hey. I've been looking everywhere for you."

If he wasn't so freaked, that comment would have made Alan melt. He got up, brushing past him. "Gotta go."

Derek caught his arm, and dragged him outside. "You need to tell me what's going on, man."

"I need to tell you no such thing."

"Alan," His hazel eyes searched his green ones, and dammit, why did he have to be so fucking gorgeous? "_Please. _There's no one else I can go to."

Alan eyed him for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. But it ain't gonna be pretty. Meet me downtown. The St. Issac flea market. Six."

Alan turned on his heel, heading to his car. Derek watched, and Alan refused to meet his eyes.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Derek got to the flea market at five-forty-five. He wasn't risking letting that guy slip away again.

Alan found him at six. He took his arm and dragged him past the small crowd of tourists, pulling him into a secluded alley. He knew this alley. This was the place he'd taken heroin for the first time. It was a bit nostalgic, being back here.

Derek crossed his arms, clearly waiting for him to speak. Alan took a deep breath. And told him the things he'd never told anyone.

In retrospect, Derek handled the news fairly well. Sure, he looked a little green, but at least he wasn't spazzing out.

"You can see now why I said you had to go to the police," Alan said quietly, after Derek had stayed silent for a good amount of time.

Running his fingers through his curly hair, Derek sighed. "Yeah. But what are they gonna do? They can't do anything. They _won't _do anything."

Alan shrugged. "We sure as hell can't do much, either,"

"We can do more than they can. Come on, Alan. Don't bail on me now."

And he took one look at those hazel eyes. Alan sighed.

Derek smirked. "Good."

Alan rolled his eyes. "This doesn't mean I think you're a likeable guy or anything."

Derek ignored his comment. "You should come to dinner tonight."

Alan was surprised. "What? Are you delusional?"

"Oh, come on. It's tofu night. The more people who come, the less leftovers we'll have."

"Derek, don't feel you have to be nice to me in order to keep me around. I mean that. It's creepy."

Derek leaned against the wall, standing next to him. "You have a tendency to run off. If I invite you over, you can do you magic on my computer and we can maybe track down this guy."

"Nice to know you had an ulterior motive. Besides, if I use your computer, the thing'll crash."

"So, we'll stop at your place and get your laptop."

"Or I can just go home and you can feast on tofu by youself."

In the end, Derek got his way. Alan promised to meet him at his house, and they parted for the second time that night. To say he was unnerved was an understatement. Going to Venturi's house was very possibly one of the stupidest things he'd ever done. Stepping into enemy territory wasn't exactly recommended, after all.

Alan could just imagine his family's reaction when he came over. There would be an awkward silence. Oh, what had he gotten himself _into?_

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

When Derek announced that he had invited someone over for dinner, everyone expected a girl. A bimbo that giggled inappropriately and sneered at the food offered to her.

So when Alan Wright appeared at the door, Casey's expression of shock was expected.

"Come in." Derek called from his seat, and Alan obeyed, plopping down on the couch.

"Derek, can I talk to you? _In private?"_ Casey asked with gritted teeth, dragging him up the stairs and into her room.

"Is this your idea of a joke? _Alan Wright?_" Casey asked, borderline hysterical. "What, are you playing some kind of prank on him? I swear, Derek, if you hurt that kid's feelings, you will never, ever have Derek Jr."

Ah. That was Casey. Thinking of others. Though her worries were warranted, Derek glared at her.

"Never threaten the existence of Derek Jr."

Casey rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Seriously, what's up?"

Derek snorted. "Like I'll tell you, Grubby." And he breezed past her, going downstairs to rescue Alan from the verbal assault of his younger siblings.

Meanwhile, Casey sighed, plopping down on her bed with an expression of worry. She let that one thought leak into her head.

_What if Derek had feelings for Alan?_

That was non-Derek-like, and it was highly unlikely, but she couldn't help but wonder…

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

"Pass the broccoli." Derek said, mouth full. Alan was staring at his plate like it was the most interesting thing he'd seen, well aware of the pairs of eyes on him.

Nora forced a smile on her face. "So…Alan. What are your plans for college?"

Alan looked at her, searching her nervous expression for an inkling of compassion. Casey's expression was of pure pity; at least he had one ally on his side.

"MIT. I'm going into computer science as well as engineering."

No one uttered a word of approval, except for Casey. She smiled a genuine smile and commented that he was on the right track, and that she wished more of her peers took their futures more seriously.

Derek muttered, between bites of bread, that Alan was a complete nerd and that he and Casey should get married, they certainly _seemed _compatible.

Casey sneered at him, telling him that he shouldn't be jealous that she and Alan were smarter than him, it was his own fault he hadn't taken his schooling seriously.

"Because I have a _life_, Grubby." Derek pointed out.

Alan watched this exchange with relief, glad that the focus was on the bantering teenagers rather than him. _Still,_ he thought, _those two stare at each other like they want to have sex right then and there._

There was no doubt Derek Venturi found his stepsister attractive, and vice versa. Alan smirked at the thought. Neither of them were aware of the attraction, and it made it that much more tantalizing to watch.

After dinner, up in Derek's room, Alan was busy setting up his laptop as Derek was busy downstairs worming his way out of kitchen duty. Casey stood in the doorway, and upon his gaze, came to sit next to him.

"Let's get to the point," Casey said, "Seriously, Alan, what's going on here?"

"You'll have to talk to Derek about that, Casey."

Casey frowned, and tried her hand at reverse psychology. "So what, Derek controls who you talk to?"

Alan sighed, setting the laptop next to him. "Casey, you'll have to talk to Derek."

"Fine. But can I ask you _one thing?_"

"Maybe. Shoot."

"Are you two dating?"

Alan laughed, and shook his head. "Yeah, right. You must be blind, Casey."

She opened her mouth, fully intending to ask him what he meant by that, when Derek appeared.

"Yo, Spacey. Out." Casey scowled and tossed Alan a final look before she left.

Derek shut the door.

"Casey's onto you, you know."

Derek's lips set into a firm line. "I'm not getting her involved. I'm not getting _anyone _else involved."

"Mm-hmm." Alan said, a small smirk playing on his lips. Oh, the boy was _whipped._

"Stop looking at me like that," Derek snapped.

Alan redirected his attention to his computer, pulling up the GrimmSin website. "This is what I found. But as I click Enter," he clicked the link, hearing his computer make the familiar whine, "My computer shuts down."

"What's the point of having a website if no one can access it?"

"I think he's going to let us access it eventually. But it's his way of letting us know he has the upper hand."

"So basically, you're at a dead end."

"Yep. We have to wait until he gives us another clue."

"What do buzzing insects imply?" Derek wondered aloud.

"Why? Is that what you heard? I'm not sure. But everything he does symbolizes something. Don't forget that."

Half an hour later, Derek said his farewells and closed the door, fully aware of George's gaze on him.

"Alan Wright?" George said, shaking his head. _"Alan Wright?"_

"It's not a big deal, you know," Derek said defensively, knowing full well it was.

Nora came into the room, joining George's disappointment. "I don't want him coming over here again."

"Well, _you're _open-minded," Derek commented sarcastically, heading up the stairs, and ignored their warnings of a grounding. He had hypocrites for parents.

Casey was sitting on his bed when he entered. She had that vulnerable worried look on her face again, tears threatening to fall.

"Derek, should I be worried?"

Derek sighed, closing his door. "How much did you hear?"

She bit her lip, not wanting to admit that she'd stayed plastered against her wall with a glass.

"Look, Casey, it'll be fine. Don't worry, all right?"

A determined expression grew on her face. "You have to _tell _me what's wrong, Derek. And don't think you can lie."

"I am _not _getting you involved."

Casey scoffed, standing up and walking to him, standing so close she could feel his body heat. "How noble of you."

"Fine. But you _have _to promise to keep this a secret. And stay out of it, Case. I mean it."

They sat on the bed, and he told her, in hushed whispers, everything.


	6. Chapter 6

I don't know how to say this without sounding like a total bitch, but part of me doesn't really care.

While I appreciate that I have readers, and that people enjoy this story, if anyone has a problem with the fact that there is a gay character in this story, stop reading. Now. Seriously. I don't want to deal with "ew" and "Derek isn't gay!" comments, even if said homophobic person likes the story otherwise. While I don't intend to pair Derek with Alan, it doesn't mean I want someone bashing his, or anyone's, sexual orientation.

This reason I'm writing this is, because unlike most flames, I take these homophobic ones personally. I myself am gay, and I will _not_, under any circumstances, allow homophobic comments to slide by without mentioning that I feel it is inappropriate.

Now. Please enjoy this chapter. Sorry for the serious topic above. If I've lost any readers, well, I've lost readers.

To the readers still with me: This one's for you.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Needless to say, Casey didn't keep her end of the bargain. She freaked out. Derek had to cover her mouth and hold her back in order to keep his secret, y'know, a secret.

"Derek," Casey whispered fiercely, "You need to tell someone! This is dangerous!"

Derek rolled his eyes, releasing Casey from his hold and plopping back onto his bed. "I'm not telling anyone, Case. Alan even agrees with me on this. The cops aren't going to do anything."

"So what? Are you just going to deal with this yourself and put yourself in danger?" Casey asked huffily.

Derek closed his eyes briefly, pressing his palms together underneath his chin. "Casey. You can't tell anyone. And I don't want you to help."

Casey scowled.

He looked at her. "Promise me, Casey. Promise me you won't go to someone or try to help. I'm serious."

"Fine. I promise." Casey finally said, sitting next to him, looking drained.

"Good. Now get out."

Casey _humph'd _and sauntered out of his room, her nose tipped into the air. "You're still a jerk!" she called back to him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

At exactly two in the morning, his phone went off. He remembered what Alan said. _Everything he does symbolizes something_.

This time, he listened to the sounds. He kept his emotions at bay, and listened.

He heard voices. The voices of small children. And behind those voices was the faint sound of circus music.

_Ring around the rosie_

_Pocket full of posies_

_Ashes, ashes,_

_We all fall down_

The voices silenced quickly, and the buzzing of insects, like the call before, erupted.

And the phone clicked.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Casey stared at him with evident worry in his eyes. He ignored her. He knew she was full of questions. He was beginning to regret ever telling her. He should have lied. He should have kept her out of this.

For the first time in his life, Derek got to school early. He'd skipped breakfast, leaving quickly. Casey hadn't even had time to get to the door when the roar of the Prince was heard.

_Sorry, Case. _He thought.

He got to school at exactly 7:06.

Somehow, though, as he got out of the car and approached the building, Emily spied him. With overwhelming speed, she was by his eyes in seconds. For a moment, Derek was afraid Emily was back into her "obsess over Derek" phase—Sheldon _had_ moved, after all, and she was single. Single and prowling.

"What are you doing here so early?" he asked, eyeing her.

"Trying to find you. Casey told me you came to school early." She was out of breath, panting, and she had to stop momentarily.

"Trying to find me?" he echoed, confused.

Emily nodded, her dark curls bouncing with the motion. "Derek, Amy was abducted last night. And everyone's saying you were the last person to see her."

"What do you mean, _abducted_?" he asked, a cold ball growing in the pit of his stomach.

"All I know is, she's missing. And you're the target."

"Shit. What the fuck am I supposed to do, Emily?"

She looked at him in pity. "I don't know, Derek. I mean, I know you wouldn't hurt her, and I'm sure a majority of the student body and staff knows that. People will be here for you. We'll back you up."

"Where's Casey?" he asked suddenly, dismissing her earlier comments quickly.

Emily's expression answered his question.

"_Goddamn it, _Casey," he muttered, and bolted, whipping the doors open with fury. He ignored the secretary's yell: _No running in the halls!_

Paul's door was closed. Relief flooded through him. There sat Casey, frozen with panic as he stared at her.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?"

"You need to tell someone! This is getting dangerous!"

"_I _need to tell someone, Case, _not _you! So keep your _fucking _trap out of it!" he snapped, rage flowing through his veins.

Casey looked at him, her face drained of color; the way she held herself made her look small. Derek sighed, taking her arm and pulling her to a corner.

"Casey," he began, trying to think of a way to approach his request calmly, "please, _please _just go to your classes and do your grade grubbing and obsess over the fact that I didn't give you a ride this morning. Okay?"

Casey's breath hitched. "Okay." She said, so quiet he thought he imagined it. She looked down.

"And Casey…" he trailed off, knowing what he was about to say would make her panicky again, but he had to say it, "Don't go anywhere alone. And make sure you know where the kids are at all times. Can you do that for me?"

She nodded, her eyes still downcast.

He used one index finger to tilt her head up. The contact made him queasy, so he took his finger back quickly.

"Thanks, Case." He said distractedly, and stepped away from his previous closeness to her.

"What's your first class?"

"You have first period with me, Derek."

"Right."

They walked to the classroom in silence, and he made sure the teacher was in the room before he tilted his head at her—a subtle farewell—and exited the room, going in search of Alan.

He found him in the library, a change to his usually hiding place.

"Dude," he said, clamping one hand on the boy's shoulder, "we need to talk."

"I'll say." Alan noted wryly.

They exited the building, huddling in the shed that was both a storage place for tools and a place the potheads went to get high.

"So, little miss blondie went missing and everyone's asking to call the freaking SWAT team."

"Alan," Derek said tiredly, "Can you be serious? I'm in a lot of shit here." He told him of the phone call he received, the sounds he had heard, and of Casey's involvement.

"Thought you weren't going to get her involved." Alan muttered bemusedly.

Derek shot him a look.

"Okay, okay. Let me do some research on fairgrounds or circuses around here and I'll get back to you."

"Alan," he warned, "be careful."

Alan rolled his eyes, standing up. "Save the parental guidance crap for Casey. I'll be fine."

Derek shook his head, imitating Alan's movement. "I don't get you sometimes, Alan. You can be such an—"

"Asshole? Yeah, it kind of goes with the heroin-addict territory." He stated, with one raised brow. With his proclamation of drug use, Alan exited the shed, leaving Derek alone.

Today was _really _not his day.

He got to first period fifteen minutes early, and his teacher was more than surprised. She commented on his punctuality, complimenting Casey for influencing him.

Clearly, she hadn't heard of Amy's demise.

Casey shot him a look that showed she was thinking the same thing. The next ten minutes passed in excruciating silence.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Derek didn't get any relief, of course. One by one, students entered the classroom, whispering to one another, eyeing him in what they thought was a subtle way.

It wasn't.

And when the teacher slammed her book against the desk to get her students attention ten minutes after the bell rang, he thought he'd get some peace and actually listen to the lecture for once.

Of course not. The principal arrived, calling for him personally. Twenty-five pairs of eyes followed his every move as he exited the room.

He was a dead man walking.

In the hall it was silent. The principal walked beside him stiffly and silently. He didn't even lecture him, like usual.

And when Derek saw the cops looking grim-faced at him, he knew not even a miracle could get him out of this one.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"So," began one of the officers, dark-skinned and dark-haired, watching him with her silver hawk eyes, "I'm sure you know by now why you're here."

Her badge glittered at him menacingly. The man by her side was big-boned, with a full face and dark eyes. His face was riddled with rosacea and acne scars.

Derek kept silent. Even he knew better.

"We just want to know if you know anything," the male officer began, clearly trying to befriend him.

"Did she say anything about running away, or maybe going to meet someone else?"

"No." he said, feeling intimidated.

"Did _you _take her somewhere?" she asked bluntly.

"I didn't take her anywhere except to dinner and a movie. And then I dropped her at her place. I even walked her to the door!"

The woman stared at him in a way that, Derek swore, was sarcastic.

And just then, the fire alarm went off.

He was saved.

He bolted out the door, away from the roving gaze of the officers, camouflaging himself with the rest of his peers. It was raining.

After getting out of the building, Casey found him, soaking wet and gasping.

"Let's get out of here." She said, taking his hand and pulling him toward the car.

He looked at her, stunned.

In the car, he was still staring at her.

"You pulled the alarm." He said dazedly.

"Well," Alan piped up in the back, startling him, "I did tell her, more or less, through her cell phone, when to do it."

In that instant, Derek had never felt more cared for in his entire life.


	7. Chapter 7

This feels like a filler chapter, which is disappointing. I really tried to make this have some merit, though.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Casey looked at him with a wrinkled nose, obviously disgusted at his choice of a sandwich (salami, tuna, bacon, and turkey with mayo) while Derek obliviously inhaled it down.

Minutes later, he burped loudly, eliciting a sneer from Casey again, and he shrugged at her. "What? I was hungry."

"Now that you're fed…" Alan began, trailing off as Casey and Derek got involved in yet another intense staring contest that seemed fueled by the constant stress and electricity between them.

"So could we get to my place, like, maybe, today?"

Derek shot him a glare. Alan smirked. The dude had some issues with realism.

And Casey…well, bless her heart, but she wasn't catching on too quick. She just looked at him confusedly.

Consequently, it was silent except for Alan's directions aloud to his place. It was better to hide out there; no one knew where he lived.

When they pulled up to the house, Casey couldn't help but blurt out, "Are you sure this is the right place?"

Alan turned to her, raising a brow, drilling his eyes in her. She blushed and didn't say another word.

"It's not as bad inside as it is outside." He answered her. And "_bad" _on the outside was really a gentle way of describing his house; there were _windows _missing. The fence wasn't picketed or even chainlinked; it was made of wire. The sole pieces of wood holding the wire up were so rotted that it breathing on it would make the thing fall over. Casey wasn't sure how the house had even _survived_, much less _house _a family.

It wasn't like Alan was crazy about bringing them over. He was sure Derek and Casey had a house much, much nicer than his. But again, his house was as about anonymous as they could get at the moment, and it was safer.

Kicking aside the blankets and stray beer bottles, he led the two teens to his room, which, really, wasn't much better (did he hide his heroin this morning? Oh, he hoped so) and awkwardly smoothed out the ragged comforter on his bed so they could take a seat.

Alan's room was impersonal. His room consisted of a bed, a PC, a laptop, and a small closet. The floor was hardwood, and socks peeked out from under the bed.

"Hold on, I gotta get…" and Alan's voice trailed off as he stumbled out of his bedroom.

Casey sat on the bed with her hands clasped in her lap, obviously attempting to be friendly and not at all rude (though Alan already knew what she was thinking); she stared around, trying to find something, anything, to compliment him on. She was having a hard time.

Derek, on the other hand, spied a small leather strap underneath the bed. With his foot, he pulled at it until it screeched and skidded across the floor, stopping at a corner.

Casey looked at him, and he shrugged, walking over to the object. As he held the bag in his hand, Alan chose right at that moment to enter.

Dipping one hand into the leather sack, Derek retrieved a syringe.

Alan simply rolled his eyes. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's _rude _to go through other people's belongings?"

"What's that?" Casey asked quietly, looking white.

"It doesn't matter," Alan said quickly, grabbing the syringe and bag from the taller boy and stuffing it in one drawer of his small desk.

Derek, uncharacteristically, left it at that and allowed Alan to change to subject.

"_So what we need to start with is the fairgrounds…"_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Casey was almost positive she was about to hurl. Her stomach was quivering and she was trying to keep her back straight so the two boys wouldn't see how her shoulders were shaking.

It was when Alan had looked up, about to say something, that Casey had finally stared straight back; and he grabbed her wrist and took her to the seedy little bathroom he had, barely smaller than an airplane bathroom, really, and held her hair as she dry-heaved.

"Is she okay?" Derek asked, all false personas down, legitimate concern in his eyes.

_Doesn't care about her my ass, _Alan thought, with a twinge of envy. "She'll be fine. She's just stressed and nervous."

Right as he said that, Casey's breakfast of oatmeal shoved its way up her throat. He turned his attention back to her and rubbed her back.

"There's some ginger ale in the fridge." Alan said, and Derek walked the two whole feet to the kitchen (that was pretty much the hallway; a strip of carpet and wall two feet long) and retrieved it.

Looking grey, Casey rose to her feet and stood at the sink, rinsing her mouth out.

And then she just looked at him, the bloodshot blue eyes digging into his own.

She was about to say something; her mouth about to open, but Derek interrupted them before she could get a word out. Oblivious to Alan's exasperation, Derek proudly shoved the can of ginger ale at her.

"Thanks." She mumbled, taking the can, and shuffling to his bedroom.

Derek looked at him. "Should I be worried?"

Alan curled his lip. "Worried about _what_? The stalker?"

"Yeah," Derek answered, but that's not what his eyes were asking him.

Alan leaned in, as if he were about to share a big secret. _"Derek," _he said quietly, _"you can't tell anybody this…but I'm gay."_

"That wasn't what I was worried about!" Derek protested.

He simply lifted a brow and rested his back against the countertop. "You don't like it when _any _guy likes your sister, hockey boy," he patted Derek's shoulder mockingly, "even if it's platonic."

"Step," he corrected automatically, "And that was _not _what I meant!"

"Subconsciously, it is, hockey boy." And Alan left him there, sitting beside Casey who leaned against the wall lethargically.

"Feeling any better?" Alan asked her, and she simply gave him a soft head nod as an answer.

Later, when he thought Alan wasn't looking, Derek put his jacket over the sleeping Casey beside him (he'd even made Alan _move _for chrissakes!).

Alan chose not to comment.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Over the course of four hours, Derek and Alan had gone through a whole yellow pad, filling it with notes. Theories, mostly, but also a list of what they knew so far.

"We still don't have much to go on," Derek muttered.

"When do we _ever_?" Alan commented, shutting the laptop and plopping on his back, sighing.

Casey, somehow, had managed to stay asleep, and neither of the boys particularly wanted to wake her, so they decided to take a break in the kitchen, stealing two cans of beer while they did so.

"So," Derek began awkwardly, realizing how little he actually knew about the boy parallel to him after the whole syringe incident, "I'm not sure beer is good for diabetics."

Alan simply stared him down with those eyes. He said, evenly, his voice carefully light, "I told you I was a heroin addict."

Derek stared at him, eyes widening for a moment. "Well…well, I thought you were just making one of your weird jokes."

Alan took a sip from the can and shrugged. "Now you know."

Derek tapped the can with one index finger, hair hiding his eyes. "Why did you…I mean, it's…bad for you."

Alan narrowed his eyes. "As it is stated in Health 101, yeah, heroin's not exactly recommended."

Derek sighed. "It's just…you're smart, you know, going to MIT and stuff and…and you're just going to _choose _to waste away?"

If Casey were here she'd be pointing and laughing at him right now.

"Derek," Alan muttered, "MIT wouldn't accept me if I had all the money in the world. Do you _wonder _why no one's ever been to my house? It's not just because I have no friends, or that I live in such a pigsty." He smiled mirthlessly, then said bitterly, "American hospitals don't give stuff out for free, you know. If you need reconstructive surgery, they charge for that."

"I'm sorry," was all Derek could even think of saying.

A dry chuckle escaped his throat, and Alan tossed the empty can in the sink. "I'm sure."

"What the fuck is your problem? You act like I'm the one who did this to you!" Derek asked heatedly, as Alan turned to walk back to his room.

He turned, his voice flat. "I have no _problem, _Derek."

"I call bullshit," Derek hissed.

Alan ignored him. "My mother's going to be home soon. I suggest you and Casey leave before she dies from shock that her son actually had friends over."

"Smooth," Derek said sarcastically, "You're kicking us out?"

Derek followed him to the room Casey was at, and she was wide awake, eyeing the both of them with annoyance. Derek wasn't sure what she was annoyed at.

"Thanks for letting me _sleep._ I'm sure I was a _big _help."

Oh. She was just freaking about not being able to overachieve. Well, okay, he could deal with that.

"How about you do my laundry and we call it even?" Derek suggested, grinning.

"I _already _do your laundry, moron."

"That explains why I've been smelling like flowers lately."

"It's spring rain! And anyway, it's better than your 'man smell'." Casey snarked.

"Derek," Alan finally cut in, "Sorry, gotta say bye. Casey, great to see you too." With that, he herded the previously squabbling teenagers out the door.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Well," Casey began, as Derek started driving, "That was odd."

A sigh. "That's Alan for you. Seriously, the guy makes it hard to _not _kick his ass."

"He likes you, you know." Casey said, a hint of mischief in her voice.

"He does not!" Derek protested, "How many times has he alluded to my being an idiot, or my hockey status, or how no one can ever know we've spoken?"

Casey giggled. "A boy doesn't act like that unless he's smitten—and Derek, trust me, I _know _smitten."

Derek scowled. "Well, _he _thinks _you _like me! So therefore, he is _not _smitten!"

Derek chose to omit that Alan had only implied Casey liked him. In either case, it made her go off on a tangent about how wrong that was, and he ended her final thought—_you're an annoying asshole and _so _not my type_—by blaring on the radio.

"My point exactly," Casey yelled, and then growled, looking out the window.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Alan plopped on his bed, and noticed the dark material sitting beside him. Derek's jacket. The infamous leather jacket that screamed _sexy._

The boy looked around the room, and then lowered his face into the material, taking a breath.

He _did _smell like flowers.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When the Prince pulled into the driveway, both George and Nora rushed out of the house, clearly frantic.

"They heard," Derek said flatly, then turned to Casey, "Not a word, Case. _Not a word._"

The door opened, and Nora exclaimed, "Derek! We heard about Amy! Why didn't you _call—"_

"You know, I'm really tired so I'm just going to bed. Okay? Great." He jogged into the house, his backpack in tow (safely tucked inside was the yellow pad of notes; he knew he wasn't getting _any _sleep tonight).

Casey chatted with the parents, and he was thankful. He knew she was doing it for him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

At midnight, his elbow ached from having to hold that miniature flashlight for so long. He'd gone through the pages and pages of notes, and at this hour they were just words, anyway. He didn't know enough to have an upper hand, and he knew the fairgrounds would hold a clue, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to go any deeper with this whole thing.

Just as he was about to give up, Casey opened his door silently, carrying two large mugs of coffee.

She gave him a little smile—a real one, not forced—and said, "I kind of figured you need some reinforcements. What do you think?"

He simply grunted and accepted the coffee gratefully.

She took the pad from his lap and skimmed the first page.

"So, Centreville, then?" Casey suggested.

"Casey, it's closed. It's _December._"

"But it's also the closest, and it had a special showing of 'Cirque de Soleil' in October, remember?"

Derek sighed, and took a sip of his coffee in order to avoid answering.

"Oh, you're not _scared_, are you?"

"Funny, coming from the girl who was puking her guts up just a few hours ago."

There was a silence.

"It's okay to be scared," she whispered finally, "because I am too."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Centreville"is a reference to _Centreville Family Amusement Park_, which is open predominantly in the summer. No, there was no showing of _Cirque de Soleil _there, and I personally have never been there, so any descriptions of the park will be purely fictional.


	8. Chapter 8

Some gore here.

Enjoy.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Her arms hurt; the bones strained with every movement she made; tears ran down her cheeks as she swung to and fro, narrowly missing the hissing tendrils that tried to catch her skin. Every time the licks of fire missed her, the two clamps placed on her nipples tightened harder._

_They were purple, blood dripping into the hungry flames below her. Her skin was flushed, raw, and she tried to cough, because the smoke was just too much; but the raging pain came back and she cried as her body forced her to breathe. The stitches on her throat and collarbone popped; she felt the wound open._

_She couldn't scream. She couldn't beg for him, or her, or whoever the fuck it was that was torturing her, to stop. _

_Her vocal cords had been removed._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"_I wish Alan was with us." _Casey whispered to Derek as they snuck outside, the morning mist hitting them hard, burning their sinuses as they took a breath.

"We'll be fine, Case." Derek said, wincing as his foot hit the trashcan. Both teens froze, looking at the door for the lights.

Closing the door quietly, Casey put on her seatbelt. "I wish we could tell him where we're going, at least." She said quietly.

"He's smart, he'd figure it out," Derek said, and then realized it perhaps wasn't the most reassuring thing to say.

Casey chose not to comment and busied herself by picking at her nails.

The silence was bothering him. When he turned on the radio, all that came out was static. And it made him nervous, because it reminded him of the phone calls. He switched it off and let out a long sigh, flickering his eyes toward Casey for a split second.

He saw her staring at the coffee shop, so with an abrupt turn, he pulled into the parking lot.

"They have good cookies." He lied, when Casey looked at him in confusion.

The two walked side by side, close enough for his hand to brush against hers, and the contact made him think of Alan's constant badgering—_you _like _Casey, don't you, Derek?_

Derek frowned, shaking his head a bit to get the mischievous, slightly condescending voice out of his head. Stupid Alan and his stupid voice.

Casey either did not notice or chose not to comment. When she ordered a mocha, she looked at him questioningly. He stared back blankly.

"Weren't you going to get a cookie?" She asked, a coy smile on her face, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," Derek lied easily, "I was trying to decide which one,"

"Um," the barista interrupted, a freckly red-haired girl with a worried, forlorn expression, "Sir, we don't have cookies here. I know, it's weird—"

"No, no, just, uhh, get me the same thing she did." Derek said quickly, waving her away in a sad attempt to save his dignity.

The mousy, green-eyed barista hurried away, her long red hair frazzled as much as she was. Casey smirked at him, eyes alight.

"Shut up," Derek grumbled, "I just got the coffee shop mixed up or something."

"Of course," Casey stated innocently, with wide eyes.

Derek resumed pouting as he exited the coffee place, holding his drink in a way that suggested he didn't even _want _it.

"I thought you hated mochas," Casey asked casually.

Derek grunted at her and handed her the coffee. Casey beamed, clearly pleased she had won.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Is this it?" Casey asked, holding the paper with the mapquest logo stiffly.

"Huh?" Derek groaned, massaging his head with his left hand. Casey plus coffee plus moving, locked car was _not _a good equation. She _talked _so damn much!

_Derek, don't hit the squirrel! Derek, you _hit _the squirrel! Derek, what about its babies? You just killed its babies!_

_De-rek, De-rek, DEREK!!_

He was sick of his own damn _name._

"Are we at the right place?" Casey asked slowly and loudly, causing him to wince. He wanted to strangle her. Really, he did.

"Yes!" Derek yelled, parking the car sharply, "God, woman!"

He exited the car and began walking, causing Casey to have to run in order to catch up with him.

"Don't call me _woman_. It's rude." Casey said snidely.

"Why? It's what you are. You know, _technically._ Sometimes it's a bit questionable—"

Casey stopped, grabbing his wrist. He ripped his wrist from her grasp, about to utter a snide comment about how he didn't _do _caring, comforting, big brother. Well, except when it came to Marti.

"Derek, look." She whispered, and he rolled his eyes, turning to where her index finger was pointed.

"Is that…"

"It's a _lamb_, Derek."

The small figure gazed at them curiously, and resumed its squealing for its mother.

"It's probably lost or something," Derek said, and even had to admit to himself that it was a lame suggestion. Who owned sheep anywhere close to this place? No one he knew.

Casey began heading toward the sheep—lamb, whatever—she wanted to save the thing, of course, and Derek had to grab her. "Casey, you _do _remember why we're here."

"Come with me, then," She hissed, and resumed her walk toward the infant animal.

"Hey, hey," Casey cooed, holding her hand out. The lamb, bearing razorwire around its belly, sniffed at her palm, interested at first, but upon the discovering she was not a bearer of food, it ignored her again.

Derek followed one end of the razorwire, finding it to be attached to a thick metal pole.

"Casey," Derek whispered, grabbing her arm and pulling her back.

She opened her mouth, but whatever she began to say was interrupted by the carousel music. Derek turned his head slowly toward the machine, watching it as it began to spin faster.

Then the lamb began to bleat—in pain. It squealed, trying to get away, its legs writhing. The razorwire dug into its abdomen without mercy; it ripped past its silky, smooth fir, digging into its soft flesh, letting loose a dark stream of blood and intestine.

The carousel became a blur, and the razorwire finished its final descent into the small animal, effectively severing it in half. Its eyes blinked, and it began to bleat.

Derek wiped his face, aware that the two of them were probably covered in blood, and inched closer to the grisly scene.

"Derek! Don't!" Casey screeched, breathing heavily, shaking.

He ignored her and crouched down, looking at the remains of the lamb as if it would suddenly sprout alive again and tell him what to do.

Then he saw it. The small parcel—the size of a ringbox—beneath one of the innards of the lamb—the stomach, Derek guessed, and he stood up, pulling the plastic bag out of his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Casey asked, looking revolted.

"Taking this. He left something behind; he always does."

Derek retrieved the item by putting his hand in the bag and picking it up, then inverting the plastic by closing it.

He tried to ignore the ugly _squelching _sound it made when he stuck it in his jacket pocket.

Casey curled her nose at the sound, shuddering, and tossed a final pitying look at the disemboweled lamb.

"That poor, poor lamb," Casey said, over and over, as they walked back to the car, "that poor lamb!"

"Do we have sanitary wipes in here or something?" Casey asked, twisting her body to look in the back of the Prince.

"Of course not," Derek sighed, "it's _my _car."

"_Ours._" Casey corrected automatically, "And I put a safety kit in here a while back. What happened to it?"

"I dunno."

Casey rolled her eyes and dug underneath her seat. She extracted a Tupperware box.

"Here," she said, tossing him a couple of wet baby wipes.

"These are for babies, Case!"

"What do you think _you _are?" Casey asked coolly, wiping her hands and face down.

"Why are _you _using them?" Derek shot back.

She tossed the red-stained windows in a plastic shopping bag designated for trash and told him, "If you don't hurry up and get out asses out of here, we're going to get into even more trouble."

"Yes, ma'am—oh, am I not supposed to call you that either? How about _sir_?" Derek answered sarcastically as he started the car.

"_Go, _Derek! I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to!"

Their arguing always took their minds off the bad things. That was one of the reasons they liked it so much.

It was their form of denial.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Crap, they're awake." Derek muttered, parking the car.

"What about our clothes?" Casey asked.

Derek looked at his own shirt, a striped green and brown polo. The dark stains were noticeable.

"Umm…turn your shirt backwards."

"Uhh, Derek—"

"You got any better ideas?"

"No."

"Since you're wearing white, wear my jacket. It'll cover up the back so you can run up the stairs."

"What are you going to do?"

"Walk sideways, of course."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Hi, guys!" Nora said cheerfully as the harried-looking teens came through the door, "How was the senior class meeting?"

"Great," Casey said, faking a smile.

"Lame," Derek muttered, walking with his back pressed against the wall.

"Welp," Casey began,

"Gotta go!" Derek finished.

And Casey rushed up the stairs, Derek breaking his 'walking sideways' rule and following her.

"Since when did Derek finish Casey's sentences?" George asked aloud.

"More importantly," said Edwin, "Why was his shirt _backwards?_"

George and Nora turned and stared at each other, worry in their eyes.

"Oh, no." they said in unison.

"Ah, enjoy your breakfast kids! Haha, I'll be right back!" Nora blurted out, rushing out of the kitchen.

Derek was in the process of pulling on his orangutan shirt when Nora burst into his room.

"Um," Derek began, looking around, "Hi?"

"Derek," Nora began quickly, nervously, "I know…"

George appeared beside her, "We know what's going on between you and Casey."

Derek paled. "You do?"

"Yes, son."

"You aren't going to call the cops, are you? Because—"

"No, no, Derek! How could you think that!" Nora asked, surprised, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Derek pursed his lips in thought. He was beginning to feel like just _maybe _George and Nora weren't exactly on the same page as him, here.

"Listen, two teenagers?" Nora asked, chuckling nervously.

"One house?" George said, squeezing his wife's hand for support.

"We understand, sweetie. It's perfectly natural to have interests in Casey."

Derek's jaw unhinged. _"What?"_ he said loudly, then cleared his throat. "I mean, Casey and I aren't…_like that. _It's….it's…_Casey. _Nerdy, klutzy, bossy _Casey._"

Nora and George looked at each other hopefully.

"So…"

"There's really nothing going on?"

"_God, _no!" Derek muttered, "What is _wrong _with everyone?"

Both parents let out a sigh of relief.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Hey," Casey said, stepping into his room. Her hair was wet and she was wearing a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt much too large for her.

Derek looked at her. "Is that mine?"

Casey looked down, and then shrugged. "Yeah. I just grabbed whatever was warm in the laundry basket."

He just nodded.

"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know the shower's free."

"Thanks."

There was an awkward silence. She stepped over the items on his floor and sat down next to him.

"Casey…about today…"

"I'm not going to tell anyone. I promised, didn't I?"

Derek just shrugged.

"We should probably tell Alan."

"Yeah."

Another awkward silence passed. Derek wondered if Nora had mentioned something to Casey about their "talk", or if she was just rattled by the incident that had occurred earlier.

"Guess I'll take that shower, then." Derek said.

"I'll…see you later then," Casey said awkwardly.

"See ya."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Nora rushed down the stairs and found George.

"They're lying," she said.


	9. Chapter 9

I know I don't _ask _for reviews, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate them!

Enjoy the ninth installment of _Ghost._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Hey," Derek said at Casey's door, "Ready to go?"

Casey looked up from the book she was reading and cocked her head. "Go where?"

"Alan's."

Casey frowned. "I'd really like to, Derek, but I'm already behind on my work so I thought I'd take tonight to catch up…" She trailed off, looking at him a bit guiltily.

Derek shrugged. "It's okay; it's just Alan's place. Stay here."

Casey looked at him. "Are you sure? I don't want you to be alone…"

Derek shook his head. "I'll be fine, Case. I'll see you later, okay?"

Casey sighed and forced a small smile on her lips, but the worry was evident in her eyes. "Okay. Tell him hi for me."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The knock on his door startled him. He held the phone in the crook of his neck. "Hey, hold on a sec." Alan said, walking to the door.

Derek stood at his doorstep, hands in his pockets. "Hey," he said, looking at the phone, "I just…" he trailed off, not entirely sure how to explain to him what he needed to say.

"Well, come in." Alan said, and they went to his bedroom.

Derek sat on the bed awkwardly, trying not to listen to the conversation. But Alan plopped down next to him, and he gave up.

"…Well, listen, I gotta go. What kind of a question is that? God, back off."

Alan quieted momentarily and rolled his eyes at whatever the person on the other end had said.

"Yeah, sis. I know you hate me. And it's all my goddamn fault…I've heard all the shit before; I can recite it in my fucking sleep. Is this why you called? To bitch at me?"

Alan's lips twisted into a bitter smile as he listened.

"Yeah, I know." He said, softly. "Just for the record, I don't hate you. Talk to you later, Jamie."

Alan pressed a button on the phone and looked at Derek. "Kid sister still hates me," he explained, and left it at that. "So what did you come by for?"

Derek stayed silent, trying to figure out how to describe what he saw.

"Derek?" Alan murmured.

"Casey and I went to Centreville." Derek blurted out, and looked away.

"That bad?" Alan asked quietly.

Derek just nodded. He pulled out the plastic bag and handed it to him. "You open it. I don't want to."

Alan smelled the sharp scent of iron and decided not to ask; he pulled the velvet box out of the back and opened it.

He heard a sharp breath, and Alan looked at Derek.

Picking up the lock of hair and holding it between his fingers, Derek didn't say anything, but his eyes spoke plenty.

"She wasn't the best person," Derek said quietly, "But no one deserves this."

Alan pulled the small scrap of paper from the box and unfolded it. He read it aloud. _"Ashes, ashes; we all fall down."_

Derek shut his eyes, hands shaking. "He burned her alive."

"Hey," Alan began awkwardly, not entirely sure how to calm him down, "We'll catch this guy."

Derek's eyes flared, and his face darkened. "Damn straight we'll find the bastard," he whispered, "And I'm going to kill him."

"Derek," Alan warned, "Calm down. You can't slip into this. If you do, you're going to get obsessed and you won't be able to think straight—"

"What the fuck else am I supposed to do, Alan?" Derek hissed, "This asshole is messing with _my _life. Not yours."

"You're right," Alan said simply, "But I'm involved, and that means it affects me as well. You're not alone, Derek."

"I don't know what to do, Alan," Derek's voice was broken, "This is all so fucked up."

"I know," Alan said quietly, putting one hand on his shoulder.

Derek looked at him, and those hazel eyes—those broken, scared eyes—drove him crazy. Putting the other boy's face between his hands, Alan pulled him into kiss.

It wasn't gentle.

Putting his hands firmly against Alan's shoulders, Derek pushed him away. "I…I gotta go."

"I'm sorry," Alan said quietly, as Derek collected the box and its contents. Derek looked at him, a small sigh escaping his lips.

"I know." He said simply, and stood up.

"Hey," Alan said, and the clearly disturbed boy turned around. Alan tossed him his jacket.

Derek caught it, and simply nodded.

He didn't say goodbye.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Derek arrived home, shaken and clearly depressed. But by the glare Derek shot him, Edwin chose not to ask. His brother ran up the stairs.

"Derek's acting really weird these days," Lizzie commented.

"Yeah," Edwin murmured. He wouldn't tell Lizzie, but he admitted to himself that he was a little worried about his big brother. But he also knew Derek, and Edwin knew there was nothing he could do.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Case," Derek said, shutting her bedroom door behind him and walking to her bed. He shook her awake.

"Hey," Casey murmured sleepily, sitting up, "How'd it go?"

And Derek wordlessly pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply.

Casey, shocked at first, hesitantly put her arms around him.

After a minute or two, he pulled away silently, not offering an explanation for the unexpected embrace.

Casey looked at him, biting her lip. "Um…do you want to talk about it, or…"

"No," Derek whispered. He wouldn't cry in front of her; he refused.

The frustration was _killing _him, though, and he could _feel _the physical pain he was in, the loss of control. Derek felt weak. A bitterness rose into him.

So with that single word, he left Casey alone.

He hid the plastic bag with the box, the piece of paper, and the lock of hair in his desk. Lying on his bed, though, he could feel its presence.

He decided to sleep on the couch.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next morning, at breakfast, Casey mentioned nothing about the hug. But she did glance at him frequently as he picked at his pancakes.

"Let's do something fun today," Casey suggested, "like going to the movies or ice skating. What do you think?"

Derek simply shrugged and mumbled, "Sure." But his heart obviously wasn't in it, and Casey just sighed.

An hour later, dressed and showered, Casey ignored the questioning glances from her mother—Nora had mentioned the talk she and Derek had—and exited the house, ice skates and a glum Derek in tow.

She took the driver's seat and Derek didn't even comment; she was hoping he would.

When they arrived at the lake, they were alone, and she hoped he would open up to her then, tell her what was wrong. He wordlessly pulled on his skates and waited for Casey. The skates reminded him of hockey, and he was vaguely aware that he had missed countless practices. Oddly, Sam had not been around to badger him—either that, or Derek had been gone so much he didn't even notice.

Casey began skating, so he simply followed her, veering away from her and skating half-heartedly. After countless glances, small smiles, and sixty minutes later, Casey collapsed on the bench by the lake.

Derek, slumped beside her, offered no conversation.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Casey asked, tired of hinting.

He looked at her and wanted to tell her but at the same time he wanted to protect her from his misery; he didn't want Casey having nightmares of Amy being devoured by fire, didn't want her to be overcome by the panic and helplessness he was suffering from.

"I can't." He whispered, very gently.

"Derek," Casey began, putting a hand on his arm, "You shouldn't have to carry the burden alone. Tell me. I want to help."

Derek looked at her, and the darkness in his eyes made her heart wrench for him. "Don't you see, Case?" He said quietly, "You can't help. You can't help at all."

"Please tell me," Casey begged, "Please."

He was tired of her questions. He was tired of the secrecy. So he told her. Bluntly.

"Amy was burned alive, Casey."

And with that statement, he told her, from the beginning, what had happened. The only thing he omitted from the story was his and Alan's kiss; that would be his secret.

All Casey could say was "Oh, God, oh, God."

He put an arm around her and let her cry.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Getting home was not a fun task, because the second Casey and Derek entered the house, George sniped at them.

"Did you forget to pack?" He looked annoyed, anger growing across his features.

"Pack what?" Casey asked tiredly.

"Clothes, Casey. We're visiting your grandmother for winter break. We're leaving tomorrow morning…Did you see the note I put on your desk?"

"It's winter break?" Derek asked, and wondered long he had been detached from reality.

George looked surprised. "You didn't know it was winter break? You of all, people, Derek should be celebrating."

Derek looked at Casey, and she looked back. They were both thinking the same thing: _Oh, shit. _

"I don't want to go," Casey announced, "I've got too many projects to do."

"You have to go!" Nora cried.

"Mom, please." Case mumbled, exhaustion evident in her voice.

Nora frowned. "You work too hard, darling…"

"I can't go," Casey mumbled, "Okay?"

Nora sighed, and couldn't think of a reasonable way to say no. "You can't bring your stuff with you?"

"On a plane?" Casey deadpanned.

_Good point,_ Nora thought. She sighed, knowing she was fighting a losing battle. "Well…one of us has to stay behind. George?"

George frowned. "But there's going to be Gingerbread!"

"I guess I could stay…" Nora sighed.

Lizzie popped up. "You can't stay! I'd be all alone with _boys_!"

"You have Marti." Nora pointed out.

"She doesn't count!" Lizzie whined.

Nora looked at her husband again.

"Gingerbread, Nora!" George repeated.

Casey watched this exchange, waiting for the right moment to suggest Derek. When both parents looked at her wearily, she made her move.

"Derek can stay. He has homework, too." Casey said.

"No," They both said quickly, "No way in hell."

Derek pretended to be annoyed. "Staying home with you, Case? Not my idea of fun."

Casey shot him a warning look. "You owe me for dying my hair blue. You're staying, Derek."

With that authoritative announcement, Casey began heading up the stairs.

"Wait," Nora called, "We're not done yet. There has to be another way."

In the end, Casey wheedled and prodded and got her way; Derek executed a fake pout flawlessly, but chose not to argue, and both parents were not entirely pleased with the prospect of two teenagers alone in one house for two weeks, so they compromised.

"We'll be back in a week, guys." Nora said, "And you owe us, Casey. All of us."

"I know," Casey said simply.

Secretly, Casey wondered how she had won; after all, her parents could have taken Derek and her along and cut their trip short. Perhaps they were just tired of arguing; Casey chose not to jinx her luck and pretended to be working on homework for the rest of the day.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Okay, guys," Nora said, bustling around the house at four in the morning, ignoring the two bleary eyed teens sitting on the stairs, "I've got emergency numbers on the fridge, and the flashlights on the counter in case the power goes out, and you guys can use my credit card for food," she looked at Derek warningly, "But don't go overboard."

Both of them grunted, waiting for Nora to leave so they could both return to their respective sleeping places.

Marti bounded into the house, wearing a thick coat and boots. "Smerek, do you _have _to stay home?" she asked sadly.

" Sorry, Smarti. I have to. But it's only a week."

Marti threw her arms around her big brother, clinging to him.

"Hey, Smarti," Derek suggested, "Leave your present from me wrapped and we'll open ours together, okay?"

"Okay, Smerek," Marti said sadly. Nora took the small girl's hand and took her out the door.

"Be good!' Nora called, and shut the door.

"Finally," Casey and Derek mumbled.

They went to their beds and slipped into sleep quickly.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	10. Chapter 10

Feel like this is a bit short…

:

Enjoy anyway?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You know," Derek said, emasculating an apple by stabbing it repeatedly with a fork, "In all reality, we _so _shouldn't have been able to get out of that trip. _Homework? _I mean, what parent would fall for that?"

"Ours, apparently," muttered Casey, resting her face in the palm of her hand.

Derek, bored with maiming the bruised apple, tossed it in the trash and began pouring himself a bowl of cereal. The rustling of the bag filled the silence.

"Did you get any calls last night?" asked Casey, leaning against the counter.

"Nope. Slept like a baby."

"When are you_ not _one?"

Derek shot her a dry, withering stare and resumed his cereal-making activities.

Casey watched him plop down on the couch, flipping on the tv.

He was pretending everything was okay for her sake.

And she was pretending for him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was exactly 12:01 when her phone screeched, informing her of voicemail. She must have had her phone on silent or something. She'd been curled up on her bed, rereading the same paragraph over and over again in one of her new library books; it startled her and made her jump.

She didn't recognize the number, but answered it anyway.

_Casey, it's me. Listen, you need to come over now. Both you and Derek. I did this search and I know the guy, Case, I kno—_

The phone clicked, and panic crawled into her veins, making her shiver. She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around herself; loud, whining cries escaped her throat and burning tears pushed past and trailed down her face.

Something had happened. She knew something had happened; felt it in her gut. And part of her was too scared to even want to know what it was.

Her breath hitched.

"_Derek!"_

Her stepbrother was up the stairs within seconds, the remote forgotten in his hand. He stepped closer to the kneeling girl carefully, as if one wrong move could break her. The cell phone—the obscene bubblegum pink cell phone—lay just mere feet from him and he knew it was the cause of her fear.

The words bubbled up past her throat. Hard. Bitter.

Terrified.

"Just listen to it, Derek."

He did, and his features visibly hardened. "Let's go."

"We can't. What if…"

Derek slowly turned, and then grabbed her wrist, pulling her up. "He won't be. He'll be fine. But we need to hurry."

His words weren't a source of comfort. But _he _was. So she followed him to the car.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Alan's mother answered the door, Derek knew there would be a problem. He refused to admit anything had happened to Alan—he had just seen the kid _yesterday_, for chrissakes—but that denial did not prolong the occurrence of his panic at all.

"Where's Alan," Casey asked, on the verge of hysterics. His mother looked at her oddly.

"Alan?" She echoed stupidly, smelling of alcohol; the pill bottles lay on the kitchen counter in full view.

"Yes, Alan. Your _son._" Derek said impatiently, pushing past the thin woman and heading to his bedroom.

The woman followed him with a dazed, detached expression.

"Young man, I don't _have_ a son." This comment was slurred, and the woman couldn't stand up correctly.

Derek shot her a dirty look and pushed the bedroom door open, fully planning on gesturing toward the computers and bed as evidence.

The room was bare.

"_Where the _fuck _is he, lady? Don't _fucking _lie to me, I know he's somewhere!" _Derek bellowed, face red with anger; his fist made contact with the wall and the woman didn't even flinch.

She hiccupped. And then the gun; the gun that had somehow been obscure before, somehow made its entrance and it was the largest thing in the room, and Casey was yelling Derek's name so loud, except she couldn't hear herself and so she wasn't sure if _he _could hear her either, and she watched Derek's expression grow grave and his skin fade white.

"_My son killed himself last night," _the woman was saying, the heavy gun looking so big in her malnourished hands, _"Just kept putting those needles in his arms, and then he wouldn't move."_

She laughed and her laugh was so loud and distorted it made Casey's head hurt; it echoed and rattled in her skull and she couldn't breathe anymore and she just wanted to get away from this place so she wouldn't have to watch this lady die, too.

"_His father left a few days ago, you know, 'cause he couldn't handle it no more and we got a daughter too, down in the states…"_

Suddenly Casey wanted more words to come out of that lady's mouth, wanted her to stop opening her mouth so wide, spreading her cherry red lipsticked lips too far, letting her skin sag, revealing the shape of her skull and how far receded her yellow eyes were, and how her was falling out…

She fit the barrel of the gun in her mouth, making her intentions clear.

And Casey took that chance to bolt the hell out of that broken house, dragging Derek with her, the colors in front of her blurring into one big mess as she started the car and squealed out of there.

They heard the gun go off just seconds as they were down the street.

Casey kept driving, till they were out of that neighborhood and she saw someplace where there were real people around, not broken people, but real people with smiles, and then she parked the car in the restaurant parking lot and broke down and cried, not giving a damn if anyone saw her.

"Casey, Casey, don't crack now," Derek begged, "We have to find him. He's not dead, Casey, Alan's not dead; he can't be, Case."

She couldn't stop crying though, and awkwardly he went through the car to find a few napkins for her. He fished some out of the glovebox and handed them to her.

She calmed down a bit after a few moments, and looked at him, very seriously, and whispered, "Alan's dead, Derek."

"No he isn't, Case," he argued, voice thick and rough, opening the door and stepping out, "Move over, I'm driving."

She refused to give the keys to him and he took her body in his arms and wrestled them away from her, their heavy breaths matching, and she began to cry again, and this time he said nothing, just started the car, pulling on the seatbelt roughly.

He drove, Casey's sniffles ricocheting in the silence.

"What are you doing here?" Casey asked suddenly, as she realized where they were.

"What does it look like?" said Derek darkly, "Finding Alan."

"Alan's dead, Derek! _Dead!"_ Casey answered, fresh tears arriving, "What, did you think the closest hospital here was just going to _deny _access to everyone else _waiting _for some kid, already dying, who overdosed on heroin? What, are you going to barge in there and threaten to hit someone if they _don't prove it to you?!"_

"_Shut up, Casey! Just shut up!"_

Their screaming attracted the attention of two nurses on break, as well as a few people in the parking lot. One of the nurses headed toward the pair.

"Excuse me, is there a problem here?" she asked, hand poised above her walkie-talkie.

"_No, as you can see, it's just _perfect!_" _spat out Derek, throwing his hands above his head.

Casey grasped onto what little sanity and logic she possessed and took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

"We heard some bad news about a friend, that's all." Casey said lightly, as if it _really _were nothing at all.

"I'm sorry about that," the nurse said carefully.

Derek brushed past her and entered the hospital, compelling Casey to follow.

He stopped at the receptionist's desk, tapping his foot and running a hand through his shaggy, eternally unruly hair. The nurse turned to him, raising a brow at his agitated state, and asked, "Can I help you?"

"Yeah. Alan Wright. _Where is he?" _The final three words were spoken so coldly even Casey had to make sure she'd heard _Derek _say them.

The nurse looked put-off for a moment, then replied. "In the ICU. He can't have any visitors…"

Derek nodded. "Okay. Right. Sure. Um, where's your bathroom…?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"_Breaking and entering, Derek?" _whispered Casey.

He ignored her, digging through the cabinets to find the doctor's attire he needed. "Look, if you have an issue with this, go wait in the car."

She took the clothes he offered her.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Did you even begin realize we don't know where Alan _is, _you idiot?" Casey ranted.

"Which is why we lie." Derek whispered to her, then approached a young looking nurse. He smiled, pulling on the charm.

"I hate to admit this to someone as pretty as you…but I've gotten lost and my intern group is up in the ICU. Mind showing me where that is?"

And like all Derek's girls, she obliged with flushed cheeks and a giggle.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

On the sixth floor, it was eerily quiet. Derek himself wasn't sure how he'd find Alan here; there were no dumb blondes to blind and charm.

It was pure, _pure _luck on their part that the doctor came out of the room, muttering something about "the druggie kid who'd been in too many hospitals".

Both Derek and Casey exchanged a look, ducking out of the doctor's view. When he was gone, they went into the shrouded room.

Alan was there, on a stretcher, hooked up to too many machines and Casey had to cover her mouth to stop the whimper from escaping her mouth; she heard Derek suck in a breath.

Alan stared back at them, eyes expressing grief. His lips were mouthing something around the air tube, but Derek couldn't pay attention.

The blanket covering his body showed a severance of limbs at where his upper thighs would be. And his arms…

There were none.


	11. Chapter 11

Linda Whittingham had had the worst day. She was an entry-level waitress for the new restaurant on 85th, and today had been filled with spoiled, caustic customers that never tipped. She turned on the radio, letting the jazz curl around her. The light turned lime and she hit the gas.

The semi crushed her, and the music waned in her head.

0--0

"_35 year old Caucasian female, hit full force by an incoming semi…"_

He brushed past the scene, the woman moaning lightly. One of the nurses called out to him, but he slipped away into the corridor before she could catch a glimpse of his face.

He walked steadily, quickly, to the eighth floor.

Slipped into the cloaked room. The machines beeped, and the boy in the bed let out a muffled groan upon seeing his presence.

"_Shh." _The visitor whispered, placing his hand on the wounded boy's head, _"There's a woman downstairs who needs help."_

He took his hand away from Alan's head, unzipping the messenger bag at his side. Extracting a vial and a syringe, he plopped down on the seat next to the bed.

"Let me tell you a little bit about what you're going to experience," he said, calmly, lightly, smoothly. Alan moaned in resistance, trying to sit up.

"I respect you, Alan. I really do. You're very, very smart. It's really too bad I have to do this. I didn't want to hurt you, Alan. But you just had to keep up with Venturi…"

He let out a long sigh, shaking his head.

"This is not going to hurt, Alan. I think you've been hurt enough already."

He drew the sodium pentobarbital out of the vial easily, holding the needle against the boy's jugular.

"_Sleep."_

The needle pushed through his skin, and Alan let out a muffled scream against the other boy's hand.

The green eyes drained of life, and his neck slumped to the side.

The messenger back was zipped back up, and he slipped back down the stairs.

No one noticed his departure.

0--0

Outside, Derek was minutes away from home. Casey and him had been dragged out of Alan's room by his attending doctor, and, frankly, neither one of them had offered much resistance.

The car was silent, and as it shut down in the Venturi-McDonald's driveway, neither one of them moved.

The neighbor's dark was what jerked them out of their thoughts. Just as silently, though, the two teens exited the car and entered the house.

Derek half-heartedly slumped in his chair, and Casey curled up on the couch.

"He's going to win," Casey whispered, "And we're just going to watch it all happen, aren't we?"

Derek didn't respond.

He had been thinking the same exact thing.

Another silence passed, and then Casey rose to her feet. Derek eyed her, but said nothing.

"I'm going to bed," she whispered. Her bedroom door closed and Derek's breath hitched as he listened for her presence.

He heard nothing.

And alone, in the darkened room, he allowed himself to cry.

0--0

After a fifteen minute crying jag, Derek had decided he didn't really want to deal with reality any more than Casey had, so he dragged himself up the stairs and into his room. He shrugged off his jacket, slipped off his shoes and jeans, and crawled underneath his covers.

"_Derek?" _Casey whispered, the door creaking as she pushed it open.

Wordlessly, he moved to the far side of his bed and allowed Casey to slip in beside him. He caught a breath of her scent, and sighed, roughly taking her close.

He never thought he'd ever hug the eldest McDonald girl, much less share a bed with her.

He never thought Casey would be the one person who meant the most to him.

0--0

The two teens awoke to the tinny-sounding cry from Derek's computer. Both of them exchanged looks—surprise, embarrassment and curiosity evident in each of their faces—before Casey scrambled to the desk chair.

Derek, slumping back in bed, simply groaned. "Whadissit?" he grumbled, making himself more comfortable in his bed.

"_Derek…"_ Her voice made its way to him slowly.

His ears pricked up at the sound. Derek knew that tone. That was the _I'm-trying-not-to-cry-and-utterly-failing _tone.

"_Derek…" _she echoed, her eyes glassy, her stature slumped.

He closed his eyes as she whispered the words he knew instinctively would come.

"_He got Alan, Derek. Alan's dead."_

And at the last word—dead—he flung the blankets off of him furiously, staring at his stepsister with a twisted expression on his face. Derek put his hands on the armrests, boxing her in.

"I'm getting this guy, Case. I'm getting him, and I'm going to make him fucking pay."

She just stared at him, tears running silently down her face, the emptiness in her eyes speaking volumes about her faith in him.

_You're not going to get him, Derek,_ she was saying, _You're going to die. You, me, everyone._

He held her face roughly in his hands. _"I'm getting the bastard, Case! Do you fucking hear me? I'm going to fucking _kill _him!"_

She simply pulled from his grasp and slipped from under his heaving chest. At the door, she turned and looked at him.

"I'll be in my room."

She left him alone then; left him alone with his haunting anger and the news article on his computer screen.

0--0

Sam knew something was up when Nora called to ask for him to check up on Derek and Casey. They hadn't called once, she had said, and she was getting worried. Emily was away visiting relatives in Vancouver, and so he was her last resort.

(He wasn't sure whether to be flattered by that or not.)

"Sure, Mrs. Venturi, I'll stop by." He said, being predictably Sam-like.

Nora had gushed and showered him with a thousand _thank-you's_ before he had to lie and say his mom needed the phone.

"Hey, Ma, I'm heading to Derek's," Sam called, grabbing his jacket and scarf—the pink one Derek always made fun of him for, but really it was a (bleached) brown—and told his sister he'd be back soon, so keep an eye on Fred (their new raggedy stray kitten his sister just _had _to have) and stay out of trouble.

He was going to take the car, but figured it'd take too long to scrape all the ice off, and it was just a fifteen-minute walk to his place.

Hey, he told himself, need to walk off all that pie.

(His mom made the best pies.)

At the intersection he had to cross, a few blocks from home, a lone figure stood beside him as he waited for the WALK sign to light up.

"Hey," said the boy beside him, a blonde, blue-eyed kid, not more than twenty or twenty-one, and he possessed one of those smiles that _screamed _**suck-up! **which was kind of irritating, so Sam let out his own noncommittal grunt as a sign that he didn't want to talk.

Blonde Guy looked oddly inconvenienced by that but took the hint and ignored him as they crossed the road together.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Blonde Guy get into this _really _trashy truck—it almost looked like one of those ice cream trucks, but with all the—you know, the stickers or whatever—off of it.

"Hey man," Blonde Guy called, "You need a ride somewhere?"

Sam hesitated. Blonde Dude was kind of weird, sure, but Sam had also stupidly underestimated Canada's infamous winter weather and sort of felt like his freakin' _balls _were gonna freeze off.

So he shrugged and hopped into the truck.

0--0

Their house phone screeched—Derek had intentionally left it off the hook last night, just because he didn't want anyone calling—and obviously Casey had put it back on.

"_What?" _answered Derek flatly, irritated that he had to fake normalcy when, really, he didn't even know what the _fuck _it was anymore.

"Derek?"

"Mrs. Wallace, hey." There was still a considerable edge to his voice and he knew she could still hear it.

"Where's Sam? He should've been back here hours ago!"

And he said the words she never wanted to hear.

"Sam hasn't been here, Mrs. Wallace. I haven't seen him since school got out."

He was squeezing his eyes now and felt like he was going to puke; when he looked around the room spun and all he wanted to do was break that fucking phone in half and find out where the fuck Sam was hiding but he knew this wasn't a game, and he knew Sam wouldn't come back alive and his best friend was good as dead now and all he could do was _sit and fucking take it._

He hung up the phone when he cell went off—somewhere in his room—and he ripped clothing and blankets from the floor, trying to find it, breathing heavily.

Spying it on a shelf, he dove for it and landed on his stomach painfully—but the tingling succumbed to his numbness and he screamed into the mouthpiece _where the fuck is he you sick bastard don't you dare fucking do a goddamn thing you piece of shit_

And Casey rushed into the room, a zillion questions coming out of her mouth, but he couldn't answer them, he couldn't even _hear _them, because the silence on the phone was killing him and he wondered if he'd gone deaf somehow, except he heard the beating of his heart, so maybe not

And then he heard the faint sing-songy voice, a quiet, mocking, sinister croon—

"_Baby baby,_

_If he hears you _

_As he gallops past the house,_

_Limb from limb he'll surely tear you_

_Just as a pussy tears a mouse."_


	12. Chapter 12

This is shorter than what I usually write, and for that I apologize. Things have been crazy for me, since I'm in my freshman year of college and I've been incredibly busy. But I _do _intend to finish _Ghost _and _Competition, _but updates will be a bit slower than usual. I'll try my best to update them as soon as I can.

Thanks to all my reader and reviewers, you mean a lot to me.

I hope you enjoy the 12th installment of _Ghost!_

0—0

The boy's breathing hard, feeling his skin stretch over his bones, feeling his heartbeat reverberate through his body; the buzzing echoes in his head and the wisps of wind the blades create cause goosebumps to rise

It's sinking through his flesh now the blood splattering against metal and blood and skin and lips and eyes

He screams and screams and screams the sound ripping apart his throat and hot salty tears run down his throat and he fights against the leather straps holding him down

The sound ends abruptly and there's the scalpel now the blades are quiet and he cuts past the muscle and strings and cartilage holding his weakness in

The heart sits in the metal tin and the predator begins packing it in butcher paper, the blood stains his hands and he smiles that twisted smile a bitter sense of pride and acceptance coursing though him

He sends it to the boy's mother oh how she cries he signs the box _Love, Your Son_

And the boy's murderer sits and waits for the next move.

0—0

Derek's sitting on the stool, grabbing the bottle of vodka roughly; he wants to forget, and alcohol is filling him with that warm feeling, blurring his mind, slowing his breaths.

Casey watches him, unsure of what to say. He faintly realizes that she's pretty, beautiful even, and that it's too bad he can't drag her up to his room, or hers, he didn't care and just kiss her senseless so he could _feel _something.

He voices none of this, just watches her and takes another swig from the bottle.

The guy, the bastard, the whatever, he hasn't contacted him at all, not one measly call, and he doesn't even know where to start looking, so instead he's sitting here, tail between his legs, letting the vodka make the decisions for him.

Derek hates feeling weak, and the bastard, the stalker, the whatever, has taken everything and left him defenseless; he wonders if things would have been different if he'd just told the police.

He has the sinking feeling that it wouldn't be.

The stalker knew his traits, knew his status, and knew his personality. He turned his cockiness against him, turned his fear of not being at the top, of not being in control against him and so now he's flailing in a sea of blood and death and hurt.

The vodka bottle's empty, and he tosses it toward the trashcan lazily; Casey helps him up the stairs and watches him the whole night or morning or whatever time of day it is, because she can't lose him either.

In his muddled thoughts, he's back at Centreville _where it all started _and instead of the lamb it's Casey on the ground, blood pooling beneath her and her mouth continues crying _Derek, Derek, _and he turns and runs because he needs to wake up now and make sure she's still with him.

So he does, and she's oddly nestled up in his desk chair. He stands above her, she looks up—_Derek…?—_and he pulls her up, pulls her close, and kisses her, hard, because he feels something, faintly, it's more than lust, _something _other than anger or sadness or fear and he thinks she feels it too because she wraps her arms around his neck and doesn't let go.

0—0

Sam's mother has sent Rachel to her sister's house while she sits curled up on the couch, sipping a cup of coffee. It's bland, and all she really wants is her son back, because he's her little boy and a mother never, ever lives longer than her little boy.

Morning wanes, and she's fallen asleep fitfully. A hard thump wakes her up—her heartbeat jerks wildly _please let that be Sammy—_and she answers the door, only finding a small box in her presence.

She sees the inscription and hurriedly rips the wrapping off.

And she screams.

Somehow she knows this isn't a prank, she knows this is part of her little boy, and the tears run down her face—_why, why, why? _

0—0

He gets the call from Nora—she won't give an exact description, but it's been confirmed his best friend is dead and they're packing right now.

"Okay," is all he can manage, and Casey hears the brokenness in his voice and she pulls him close and when he cries she doesn't say a word.

He remembers Sam as a toothy, scrawny seven year old, asking him if he could play basketball, 'cause there wasn't one at _his _house.

He remembers their endless fistfights and movie nights and the stories of the girls they liked, Derek told him when he got his first kiss, Sam did the same, Derek told him when he'd lost his virginity, and Sam called him when his little sister had gone missing and Derek teamed up with his best friend to go find her.

Derek remembers splitting the cost for pizza, for gas, scoping out girls at the mall, remembers the time Sam broke his arm and Derek was the first one to sign the cast.

He remembers the first time they went out for hockey, the awkward stages of puberty and teenagehood, he remembers their farewell to boyhood (wrestling was more interesting than cartoons).

Sam has been through it with him and he doesn't want to lose those memories, 'cause Sam was his best friend and Derek loves him like a brother.

What could he do without his twin, his brother, his other half? Who would help him devise pranks and play in D-Rock (no matter how lame or unfair the name was)?

Sam is one of the most important people in his life, and he doesn't want to lose him.

The computer turns on in Casey's room, and the croon, that same mocking, horrible croon, startles him, jarring him out of his mind, as it echoes through the house.

_My mummy told me something  
A little boy should know,  
And it's all about the devil  
And I learned to hate him so.  
She says he causes trouble  
If you let him in your room;  
And he'll never ever leave you  
If your heart is filled with gloom._

He rips away from her, grabs the bat from under his bed, and swings, smashing the machine; the croon wanes, and there is silence, and he pants, the broken pieces of plastic and metal in shards around him.

And Casey understands, being uncharacteristic, and just hold him close and they breathe and think because he can't think of something else to do any neither can she so they're huddling rats in a cage.

0—0

Nora and George rush the kids around, packing and making emergency arrangements to go home. Lizzie and Edwin aren't sure what's happened, but they know it's bad because Nora's trying not to cry and failing miserably.

The two kids inch away from the whirlwind of tension, wordlessly packing their things, the cheerful Christmas decorations disturbing in such a sad place.

0—0

Clad in a big puffy purple coat and equally enormous pants, Marti rearranges her hat and steps into the cold, snow all around her.

Something's wrong, she knows, because nobody's talking to her or noticing her, just running around all glassy eyed. She tried to tell them Santa came early, look outside, but nobody heard. So she decided to get the gift by herself.

The big fluffy black and tan puppy wags its tail at her, a big red bow around its neck, and Marti giggles, holding her hand out to pet it. It's just within her grasp, but the puppy jumps and begins to walk a bit further, effectively causing Marti to follow.

"Puppy!" she cries indignantly, "Puppy, c'mere, Santa gave you to me!"

The puppy plops down, its pink tongue hanging out, and Marti reaches it, petting it and smiles at its kisses.

She giggles, and them frowns at the blonde who crouches down next to her.

"Thank you for finding my puppy," he says.

Marti huffs, putting one gloved hand on her hip, "Santa gave me this puppy!"

There's something wrong with him, Marti is acutely aware of his eyes searching her face, of his all-too agile pose. Her gut screams and tells her to run, but she ignores it because the puppy is licking her face again.

She's no match for his strong arms, and she fights as hard as she can, but the towel against her face makes her vision fuzzy, her muscles limp.

He picks her up easily, ignoring the puppy that whines. When it follows him, he kicks it.

It squeals, and runs.

He's oddly gentle with Marti, carefully setting her down in the back of his fan, next to Sam's cooling body, in which has already slipped into rigor.

Marti is his key, the final straw, the piece that will made that brother of hers hurt.

Excitement runs in his veins. He can't wait.


	13. Chapter 13

Nora's blood runs cold. "Where's Marti?"

Lizzie freezes, and Edwin pauses in the middle of his packing, and George runs outside, screaming the girl's name, as if she was playing a game. Lizzie and Edwin throw on their jackets and join the man outside, screaming her name till they're hoarse. Nora searches every crevice of the house—the cupboards, the couch, the closets.

She's not there.

One hour becomes two, two hours evolve into three, and it's horribly clear to George that his daughter is nowhere to be found.

He sees her little footprints in the snow, follows them until they end at the icy road; god, she's so little, he knows in his heart she wouldn't be able to fight back, and he's so scared, fear running through his body like fire.

He finds Nora and says gravely, "Call the police."

The cops come and the house is whirlwind of questions and tears and fear. George says he can't remember the moment she went missing, and Nora can't either, and Lizzie and Edwin stand at the doorway, uselessly watching the commotion, watching the snow outside become mashed into an ugly brown color as the police dogs howl.

Everyone searches until dark.

The sheriff pulls George aside and tells him, bluntly, that it isn't looking good, no one could survive in the cold like this.

And all George can wonder is what he had ever done to deserve this—and why couldn't it have been him missing.

When the four trudge into the cabin, dried tears on their faces and the hot cocoa dragged out, there is only one ultimatum.

"Don't tell Derek."

Edwin protests.

Lizzie cries out, "They deserve to know!"

And George screams, his voice bordering on hysterics, _"Not now!"_

It fades into quiet.

The silence damn near kills them.

0—0

At first, Marti is groggy, her mouth cottony and her limbs weak. She looks around but it takes a few seconds for her eyes to focus, for her head to jumpstart.

The cold stings her cheeks. She sniffles, burrowing closer into her poofy jacket.

Then she sees a boy—_Sammy? _At first she's overjoyed to see someone she knows—Sammy can help her.

But he doesn't move.

_Why won't he move?_

She doesn't understand why Sam's body is so still, and she jumps back when she feels his skin _so cold like ice_ and she sees the hole in his chest and she begins to scream and scream, her throat raw.

She cries for her Daddy but no one hears.

0—0

It's ebony black, shiny, the faint smell of grease hitting his nostrils. Its weight in his hands surprise him; he's never held a gun before.

It makes Derek a bit nervous to even hold it; what if it goes off or something? But he takes it back to his room and sets it on the bedside table.

It sits there, gleaming.

Waiting.

Casey nearly faints when she sees the Colt .45 sitting so casually on Derek's table.

"What the hell is that?"

Derek looks at her, eyes mournful.

"Protection, Case."

Casey wants to protest, to scream at him and challenge him, but she can't.

She can't.

0—0

She doesn't know how long she's been riding in the back of that truck or car or whatever it is she's in, but her joints are beginning to ache and her stomach growls. Marti has been hiding her face into the softness of her hood, so she won't accidently see Sammy again, lying there with that gruesome hole in his chest.

Then the vehicle jerks. Mart's heart jammers against her chest, and she hears the door creak open. When the light hits her face, she tries to bolt past the figure in front of her. It's no use; he catches her easily, and when she protests, the boy snarls at her.

"Shut _up, _and we won't have any problems."

She begins to cry. He begins to strap her down to a hard metal table, and she fights back in vain.

Choking on her sobs, she looks around, taking in her surroundings. It's a garage of some kind, hard and concrete. There's no escape visible.

The metal gurney rattles, and she gasps. He puts her in a small dark room, and shuts the door. The bolt clicks loudly, echoing in her ears. Marti doesn't know what he's going to do with her, but she's really, really scared now. She pictures Sam with that hole in his chest.

She begins to sob again.

0—0

Derek picks at his lasagna. Casey heated it up, in hopes he'd eat something, but it's becoming painfully obvious he won't.

The plate screeches as he pushes it away. "I'm not hungry."

Derek trudges up to his room, knowing Casey will follow him soon. Neither of them are too keen on being alone; they're stuck together like glue, sharing the same bed, sharing the same room. There's been no discussion on it, but he needs her and she needs him and it's as simple as that.

As he's waiting for Casey, he sits at his desk, staring at the computer blankly. Derek has never felt more useless in his life.

Casey comes to him, perching on his bed silently.

Then his webcam whirs. A window pops up.

"_Well, well, well. It's nice to finally meet you, _Derek. _I've heard _so _much about you."_

The blonde boy smirks. That smirk is undoubtedly familiar. Where has he seen it before?

"You fucking bastard," Derek hisses, gripping the armrests of his chair tightly, "What do you want?"

"Patience, Derek." His icy eyes trail away from him.

He hears Casey breathing heavily next to him.

"You must be Casey." She can't saw a word; her throat is closed up. Something about him—his posture, his eyes, his voice—everything about him renders her speechless.

"_What do you want!?" _Derek screams again. Casey flinches.

The boy disappears briefly, and Derek hears a the sound of squeaking wheels. And then a voice. His veins run cold.

_Oh God. _Marti appears on the screen, and she's bawling. _"Smerek, help me."_

Casey is shaking now, tears running down her face. "Not Marti," she whispers, "Not her."

Derek stands up, trembling with anger and fear. _"Don't you fucking hurt her. Don't you dare lay a hand on her. I'll fucking kill you, you bastard. I'll fucking _kill _you!"_

His hoarse threats only bring that cocky smile on her kidnapper's face.

"Tomorrow, Derek. Midnight. Centreville."

"Don't hurt her!" Casey chokes out. His eyes focus on her again.

"Keep your end of the deal and she won't have a scratch on her."

And the screen goes black.

0—0

Nora gets the call about the video, and the family barely packs for the trip back home.

"_We have a feeling she's somewhere near home. Get there as quickly as you can."_

Lizzie and Edwin huddle in the backseat, and George stares blankly out the window.

"Is everyone buckled up?" Nora asks.

A half-hearted chorus of yeses answer her, and she puts the key in the ignition.

The blast spreads about half a mile. Lizzie remembers feeling searing pain, coughing on smoke. She blacks out soon after.

Someone sees the smoke and calls 911. When the sheriff and ambulance arrive at the scene, it's so black they can't rip into the car until they get masks on.

The sheriff shudders. He doesn't know what's happened, but their bodies are going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

0—0

Lizzie wakes up to a sea of white. She's groggy at first, not entirely sure where she is, but knows she's been there before.

A person greets her. When Lizzie tries to get up, the nurse holds her down. "No, no, honey."

Her vision is shaky, and when she tries to look at the woman, she realizes her face is numb. She brings her hand up. Half of her face is covered.

"What happened?"

The nurse is silent, pausing as she thinks, not sure she should mention anything.

"_What happened?"_ Lizzie asks again, loudly.

"You've been in an accident—"

"What kind of accident? Where's my family?"

"Honey, calm down—"

"I'm not going to _fucking _calm down till you tell me where my family is!"

Another nurse rushes in, pulling out a syringe and inserting it into her IV.

"_Relax, sweetie, relax…"_

0—0

Derek is shaking, crying now. "He's got Marti, Case. My Marti!"

Casey sniffles and holds him close. His shallow breaths warm her cheek.

Maybe he started it, or maybe she did, but her lips are on his, and he can feel her pain. They stumbled towards the bed, and all Derek can think of is getting her clothes off fast enough to distract himself.

He handles her roughly, and their lovemaking session is far from sensual. She's crying, and he sees his tears on her skin as he's thrusting inside of her. But he feel something, something taking the edge off the pain, and Casey pulls him close, kissing him harder, her hard nipples scraping across his chest.

She runs her nails down his back, and when he cums, he keeps going till Casey whimpers, begs, tells him to not stop.

Afterwards, they lay side-by-side, chests heaving.

She finds his hand, and squeezes it.

His head is racing with thoughts and he feels like he can't breathe, so he pulls Casey closer and kisses her again.

"_I'm so fucking scared, Case."_

"_I know, I know. I am too."_

0—0

There's about two or three more chapters left.

I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter.

-B.


	14. Chapter 14

Soo I'm really sorry this hasn't been updated.

The chapter's short and not as good as my others, I know. It's been a while since I've written anything fun, so humor me.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Casey's going to be hysterical with panic, he knows. He knows she'll pace back and forth and hyperventilate and cry.

But he has to keep her safe. It's his fault Alan is dead, his fault Marti's been abducted. Derek isn't going to let him get Casey, too.

So he left her there, sleeping, making sure the gun was close by—just in case.

Rubbing at his aching, dry eyes, he fishes around for the radio dial, turns on some crappy polka station that makes his head ache.

The trees whiz by, and he goes faster and faster on the long, lonely stretch of concrete, thinking about his absolute mess of a life and wishing he could just go all the way back, when he and Casey hated each other and he blew off school and had his Smarti.

He prays to God with all of his heart and soul, begs for Marti to be okay.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"_Shush, little darling," _Marti hears him croon. She wriggles even more against the chains that bound her. Her jaw hurts; the taste of rubber makes her gag.

"Stop that or I'll slit your fucking throat, you brat." He growls. She gasps, and stops.

He lifts her up far too easily and puts her atop one of the cold, metal horses on the carousel.

"Your big brother's coming soon," he whispers in her ear, his breath wet and warm against her skin.

She starts to cry again.

He's going to kill her big brother, and then he's going to kill her, and no one will ever see them again.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He sees Marti first, so small and timid. Shaking with the cold. He should approach this situation carefully, but he doesn't give a damn 'cause that's his Smarti right there and he's gonna save her, no matter what.

Loping to her, he takes off that obscene ball gag, holds her in his arms, whispering sorry, sorry, sorry; asks her if she's ok, did he hurt her? While he asks her he takes off her chains.

"Where is he?" he asks, looking around.

"I don't know," Marti hiccups, staying close to him.

"Okay, let's just go, Smarti, let's just go," He takes her in his arms and begins to run.

He holds the crosshair on the girl's head. He's a little bit sorry he has to kill someone so young, so innocent—but he remembers why she has to die and focuses on the target.

The gunshot is silent.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Derek's screaming. Her blood stains his shirt and he looks down at his little sister's crumpled body and cries and falls apart; he's so, so stupid what was he thinking

He looks up, his vision muddled with hysteria and sees _him_, the man who's made his life hell, killed his Smarti and his friend.

With a swift blow, he's rendered unconscious.

"Thought he'd be a little smarter than that," the man muses and drags the two bodies back to his ice cream truck, taking a moment to chain Derek up.

He sighs a small contented sigh, and slams the door shut.

One more. One more, and he can finally rest.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	15. Chapter 15

Two chapters left, for sure.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Casey wakes up, the ticking of the clock abnormally loud in the lonely room; she lies there for a moment, smelling him, remembering. The gun beside her only watches.

It's oddly comforting.

Casey is not stupid. She knows Derek is gone, and if her life had any semblance of normalcy anymore, she'd be irate and hurt at being left alone. She doesn't feel anything, and Casey realizes how much easier life is when one cannot feel.

She rises out of the bed and looks out the window, her fingertips trailing the raindrops on the glass.

When she's dressed, she takes the gun in one hand and walks down the stairs quietly and sits in his chair.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Derek slips back into consciousness it hurts. He doesn't like the assault of the bright light and of the memory of Marti.

He tries to look around but can't. There is an aching throb in his mouth, but he can't figure out what it is. Something's wrong; he tries to sound out a listless greeting but instead only manages a deep groan.

He feels light headed and groggy.

_Hello? _

The word echoes in his head.

An ugly whimper escapes his throat.

He begins to scream, and no one comes to him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Casey expects the roar of the engine and the headlights. Instead the door stays shut. She's unsure if _he's _expecting her to know, so she darts into the kitchen, hiding behind a corner.

Then she hears the creak of the seventh step. Her breath hitches.

"Casey, I know you're here."

Derek.

She rushes out, and Derek doesn't meet her. There's a similar smirk, a similar glint in the eyes, but he's not Derek.

The tape recorder dances in front of her eyes.

"Hello." He says, and grabs the back of her neck.

She's fumbling with the gun, and he grabs it gently with warm hands and pulls it away.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Casey. Derek is waiting for you, and you wouldn't want to disappoint him, now would you?"

She knees him, and he grunts, but grabs her leg as she turns.

She pushes his head and he grabs her hair, pulling her neck back—she grabs fistfuls of air as she tries to get away from him. He throws her against the wall. Blood trickles down her head.

Holding the small of her back with one knee and holding her wrists together with one hand, he presses the cloth against her face.

She fights, but relents seconds later.

Dean sighs, stands up on wobbly knees, and hoists Casey on his shoulder.

Like Casey, Dean isn't stupid either; and he'd be damned if all of his hard work and planning went to waste.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Derek hears the van pull in and begins pulling at the chains in a frenzy.

"Now, now." Dean chastises. "Look who I've got for you. Aren't you going to say thank you?"

Derek grunts.

The blonde leans in close and whispers in his ear, _"There's a reason I cut out your tongue; I didn't want to listen to that grating _voice _of yours while I hurt your stepsister."_

Derek screams in his head; begs and cries.

"This was the plan Derek, and there wouldn't be anything you could say to change my mind. So be a good boy and sit still while I tend to your sister, okay?"

Dean begins to chain her up first, and the sound of the clinking chains makes him sick, so he fights again and is as noisy as possible.

He turns to Derek. "I'm sorry, I forgot you were here. Let's make you a bit more comfortable, shall we? I wouldn't want you to get a crick in your neck."

As Dean pushes against the steel table, Derek catches a slight movement in Casey's hand.

_Wake up, wake up, wake up._

"Whew. Now isn't that better?"

_Keep his attention, Derek._

Dean begins to turn away, and Derek ignores the throbbing in his wrists as he grunts and forces the table to teeter dangerously as he shifts his weight.

"Stop that!" Dean interjects, anger inking into his expression.

Casey groans, and Dean's expression changes as he swiftly turns around and begins to wrap the heavy chains against her wrists.

"Nice try," Dean calls back, "But I'm much, much smarter than you."

And Derek slumps against the table, realizing that the blonde is correct.

When Dean begins to wheel Casey into the adjoining room, Derek protests by making the chains clink noisily.

"Oh, shut up," he calls, and ignores him.

Moments later he hears Casey scream—blood-curling, wretched screams that make the hair on his arms stand up—and she wails and sobs.

The blonde comes back wearing bloodied scrubs and a holding a small tin bowl.

"I had to choose the most striking part of her to save, Derek, and between the two of us I think we can agree when I say it's her eyes."

He tilts the bowl toward him, and Casey's beautiful blue eyes stare back.

Derek turns away, and Dean sighs.

When he musters the courage to look at Casey as she gets wheeled in, her face is swollen and bloodied.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I did this, Derek," Dean muses aloud, as he grabs a wheeled stool and plops down, tossing an empty bottle up in the air.

Dean moves closer and smiles—a genuine smile. "Let me tell you."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"_Gina, let me go," the man warns._

_He's peeking from the stairs. Mummy told him he needed to go to bed, but then he heard her boyfriend come over and Dean actually likes him._

_Mummy smiles more when he's around._

_Except tonight, her expression is twisted with melancholy and fear._

"_I met someone else, and I'd really like to see where it goes."_

"_What's wrong with me?"_

"_It's just not working out. I would still like to be part of Dean's life, I've taken to him quite a bit, but I think we should spend some time apart first."_

"_You've _taken _to him? George, he's your _son." _His mother spits out._

"_No, he's _your _son. I'm just the guy that put up with your bullshit."_

"_You're leaving?" he calls out quietly._

_George looks up, startled. He looks back at the woman in front of him. "I'm sorry."_

_And then the door shuts._

_And Dean is confused. Why wouldn't George marry his mother?_

_George was _his _father. His real one left when he was born, but George stood up for him when the bullies came around and when he found out about the teacher's aide. _

"_If you _ever _touch him again, I will personally hunt you down and rip you to pieces." _

_Fathers say those sort of things, and so George is his father._

_The next morning, he searches in the garage and finds three bright green pellets._

"_For me?" His mother sounds genuinely pleased, and swallows it down without so much as a grimace._

_Soon, his mother collapses and doesn't wake up, and so he takes Mister Jenkins, his stuffed bear, and goes over to the neighbor's house._

_They mostly ignore him as they take her away, but it's okay, because it means his father _has _to come back._

_But George doesn't come back. They take him to a place with ugly yellow walls and make him talk to a man in an equally ugly office every Thursday at 9 AM._

_When Dean turns ten, they send him to a boys' home where he gets regular beatings from the older kids and from the bullies at school._

_When he gets older, he finds he has a penchant for medicine and soon lets himself become absorbed in drawings of the anatomy and medical encyclopedias._

_Studying is all he does for years, because they seem to have forgotten about him._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You see, Derek," Dean hisses, "he was supposed to be _my _father. He was supposed to take me away from my bipolar mother and my addict father. But _you _came along instead. And he forgot all about me."

"Would you like to be abandoned, Derek? Of course you wouldn't. You don't even know what it feels like. You've gotten everything you've ever wanted."

Dean pauses.

"Well, I'm going to show you."


	16. Chapter 16

Officer Gonzales is more than a little nauseated at the scene in front of him.

First night on the job.

His partner stands beside him, a mousy little woman with a face of steel. Except tonight, she's as taken aback as he is.

"The coroner says they can't be older than eighteen. Wasn't what you were expecting, rookie, was it?" She chuckles mirthlessly.

As far as he can tell, the girl was killed from a blunt object sawing into her throat. The kind of object that would require time to cut into her flesh. She had suffered.

The boy was killed with blunt force trauma in the front of his skull.

It's a melancholy scene. And Gonzales knows it's going to stick with him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The hardest thing was watching Casey die. He had so much to tell her, and it sickened him that he couldn't protect her, just like he hadn't protected Marti, and Lizzie, and Edwin.

When Dean turns his attention to him, Derek is glad. Because he's really just tired. And ready for this all to end.

His last thoughts mesh in his head as the object hits his head, again and again.

_I'm sorry. Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean's long gone when the cops show up. Whooshing down the highway, feeling quite pleased with himself.

He's a bit disappointed he couldn't watch the final scene unfold, but he also couldn't risk being caught.

Dean's not sure what he's going to do next. Mexico, probably. Maybe find some girls to fuck.

He's got all the time in the world.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Lizzie is informed of the deaths, she sits in stony silence.

Six weeks later, after her face has mostly healed, the nurse finds her in the bathroom bleeding from her wrists, and they place her in the mental health unit.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Six months later, the Venturi-McDonald massacre is still buzzing on the news. Dean gloats.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Eight months later, Lizzie goes to trial. And she faces her family's murderer for the first time.

The court rules insanity, and he goes to a hospital.

Lizzie knows he doesn't deserve it.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Five years later, the murders are still fresh in her mind.

And Dean's mind, as well.

Lizzie's spent her time getting her nursing certificate.

She applies to the Centre of Addiction of Mental Health.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Her hair is blonde. But Dean would know that face anywhere.

He smirks at her and she stares at him blankly.

Her first job is laundry.

She plants a knife, and he gets moved to the second floor.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Lizzie finds snake venom. She's been breeding them for this purpose.

She keeps the vials in a lockbox.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean is in solitary confinement.

On the basis of violent tendencies.

He hasn't seen Lizzie since the day she planted the knife.

So he waits.

He enjoys games like these.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After working at the hospital for three months, Lizzie decides she's ready.

She keeps the syringes filled of venom in her lunchbox.

At her lunch break, she sneaks up to the second floor.

It's relatively easy getting to him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean smirks, lifting his head slightly when he sees her.

"I've been waiting." He says.

His hand and feet are bound at her request.

This entire thing is ridiculously easy, and Lizzie is a bit miffed at that. No matter, she decides.

She taped the syringes to her stomach. They took her lunchbox.

She uses the duct tape on her stomach for his mouth. He doesn't react.

Inserting the three needles in his jugular, she enjoys the sound of his muffled groaning and writhing against the restraints.

Then she pulls up a chair and waits until he dies.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_AP-Toronto 10/04/11 4:56 PM_

_Dean Callister, the sole perpetrator of the Venturi-McDonald murders, was found dead in solitary confinement today._

_Autopsy results are underway, and police are on the lookout for the suspect, Elizabeth McDonald._

_McDonald reportedly worked at the same hospital Callister was staying. She worked under the name of Aubrey Dennis. _

"_It's really quite unbelievable. Aubrey seemed like she would never harm a fly. She was quiet, sure. But hardly seemed like the violent type." Stated one coworker._

_AP-Toronto 10/05/11 3:33 AM_

…_Elizabeth McDonald, the sole survivor of the Venturi-McDonald murders, was found dead in her apartment yesterday after a self-inflicted gunshot wound…_

_RELATED RESULTS: _

_Callister's cause of death? Snake venom [link]_

_The question on everyone's mind: How did Elizabeth McDonald get into Callister's hospital so easily? [link]_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**Fin.**

I meant to write this last chapter in a choppy, simplistic way.

I hope it's satisfactory, and I appreciate all of my reviewers and readers.


End file.
